summer sun incandescent,
blackberries ripening on the vine-
pearly white and green
a few deepening to purple-black,
growing tumescent
even as they wait
I slide the ripened berries
from the vine to my mouth
licking juice droplets
staining my fingertips
you pick the green ones
wincing at the sourness
your mouth puckered tightly
at their unripe taste
And still, I find myself amazed
that even for summer
your choice is not change.