She walks all night

But it’s summer

So it’s still light

And what is night looks like day,

The moon

At play.

Kneading the frustration

Out on her skin

Almonds and honey rise,

Fake scent from the bottle

But she isn’t going to

Mix it herself,

So the imitation it is.

If you didn’t know in advance

Could you tell

A blind test

Every time my mouth meets another’s.

When I tasted her,

I thought she was the real thing.

EC

Image: Summer, Margaret Macdonald, c1894