Summer’s Air
Her skin was radiant
As the noon sun
Illuminated softly
Through the shade
Of the willow tree
The smell of fried chicken
Arose from the picnic basket
We reclined on the plaid blanket
Questioning silently if this was love
If the summer’s air would hold redemption
The smell of watermelon wafted in the breeze
As the willow cradled and sheltered us in its leaves
Before it occurred to me there was no melon
Her glossy rosy-red lips touched mine in fruitful passion
Watermelon never tasted so good in summer’s air
© April 3, 2013, Robbie Pruitt
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