The canvas dress is gone. The oranges and pears

The canvas dress is gone. The oranges and pears
are in the bowl on the table, the fuzz of peach
is where I find my nose. Pink, soft flesh tears

with each bite, the sweet roundedness of each
breast holds the seed of something. She eats strawberries
in the morning, extends her white arms to reach

the apples in the tress. I bless this country
for its spirited bodies, for its trees and fruit,
for the weather that brings rain. The earth is married

to the heaven through soil, I wear a suit
of clouds and a necktie. The way that she bears
the weight of a body, I have an intuition

that she's beyond words. The spherically-shaped tear
falls and traces the contour of a golden pear.