©2005 by Jennifer Honeycutt. May not be reproduced without permission.

you are the devil i know —
but i don’t really know you at all.
you are black as a blackberry
nestled against a cottony cloud.
i like to lick your skin,
your juicy freckles,
as they whir up and down your arms.
i like to taste your fingers,
though they are sharp like needles flashing
on a silvery summer day.
you are the devil —
that’s for sure.
tempt me with your prickly voice
and skin like blackberry wine —
you are juicy enough to pluck,
juicy enough to savor.
yet you make me wonder:
how is it i don’t know you,
when the only thing you’ve ever shown me
is your devil self?

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