Fuchsia

Sitting on the park bench
With legs neatly crossed
She sat, lips slightly parted

 

They were damp
Bright with a deep hue
A wildflower in full bloom

 

I imagined they were sweet
Ripened plums
Fresh from the tree

 

Sticky and juicy
Dripping down my arm
I close my eyes

 

Dreaming of purple and reds
A glass of perfect red wine
I slowly part my lips.