Blueberries

Blueberry, you are a tart temptation
waiting to explode.
Your skin beckons against my inner cheek,
taught with flavor.
I can feel the prickling tip of your stem
scratch against me.
Simmering on low,
full of your own juice and sucrose swirling
a temptation for my hand
to dive in your sticky sweetness
burn my own hand
to relish your taste.
You remind me of Maine summers I always wanted,
never had.
You remind me of his lips,
sick with a sweet adoration for me.
You remind me of a blueberry,
tart and sweet,
thick skin with lush molten guts,
succulent against my map of tastes.