the beginning of three different poems i will never finish (or maybe i will)

 Hold me, my raspberry, for a touch of mine
will breach your veins, spill turpentine
from your body, from your brain.
Hold me, dear, or seeds will rupture
your skin, peeking between my teeth your
magenta gore spilling into my pores,
leaving pinked stain on the tip of my nose.
You left your father alone to come and see
me tonight, he waits on the porch watching
The snowfall, while you thaw your drupes.
Another minute in the cold, and they’d burst.

My hair has faded to its natural color.
Through bleach and dye, through layers and layers,
Back to brown. There’s still some red at the top, a
Pitfall of dying hair with no mirror, but the ends,
Which have never been so mousy before, are splitting.
The weeds bud out through the snow on my lawn.
I cut a few inches and washed them down the drain

The flowers bud, the sun shines, the leaves die, the snow falls.
You picked a wild raspberry from the bush outside my window.
Stepping through the rotted wood and thorny plants,
Taking the last ripe fruit on the bush. Instead of feeding it to me
You squeezed it between your fingers, the juice dripping,
Pooling in your cuticles, staining the too-long sleeves of your sweater.
A chickadee flew down and landed on the fence behind you,
Tweeting “hey sweetie” with its landing, flitting its wings for balance.
She followed your fingers as you took the fleshy center
Of the berry and flicked it on the ground, splashing juice against the glass.