Happy Fruits.

The living room is quiet.
This plum drips sweet and bitter;
It's not ripe and I hear the rain
Dancing in my ears like ballroom
Gowns swishing to cellos.
It's beautiful and ever more
Glorious at the thought of you.
So soon, the winds howl,
And this plum is sticky.
I stare at my breakfast,
Imagine cooking you dinner and the things
No other thinks about you.
The living room is filled with giggles
And my untrained smile.