The sixteenth poem from my poetry collection Conception.

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First Tastes

The colour teases your eyes.
I take the strawberry,
halve it into hearts
of pink and white flesh,
then carelessly quarter it into spears
for you to hold.

You squash the softness in your hands,
red mush dribbling,
then raise fist to mouth,
suck, scowl,
shrug your face
and frown.

Three times your tongue darts
lizard-like to try it,
tasting not summer, tennis and cream
but tartness
and the sweet temptation
of other fruits.