instead I speak of blueberries
fresh and better, ripe, dark
waiting for nothing
enjoyed in their own time
bitter and raw
juicy and sweet
flavor to savor for a moment
you think it is a metaphor
everything cannot help but be
more than itself
satisfaction in existence
a slice in the color wheel
palatable, in season
summer is only that
we cannot ask for more
and yet we do, we do
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