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IMAGINED PLEASURES

The cherry tree has blossoms the color

of raspberry ice popsicles or ices

 in a cup to be licked then squeezed

from the bottom. My lips and tongue

would revel in the tart-sweet flavor; 

I’d need a napkin

to wipe my sticky lips and fingers.

Strange how a flowering tree

seen on a raw spring day,

reminds me of summer pleasures,

as if I’ve disregarded

the glory of what is, in favor

of the dreamy future.