Non-Erotic Poetrynot all berriesI will close my eyes
and tell you what is mine.
This, your beauty I carry with me down aisles
calling for lost children, selecting
the box with the reddest of strawberries.
All of these are mine.
Not all berries, these berries.
Not all children, these children.
Not all of you, but this part of you only I hold.
Other lips may taste juices,
I see them on display,
but not these, not mine.
~
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