Demand my affection
between the rows of blue corn.
An old folk song spills
from the farm house window.
We follow its lines back
to a threshold, return to a garden,
a love seat, an end table
with tall glasses of lemonade.
Demand my kisses
where the apples still hang
from stiff stems, not quite ripe,
but close—delicious to contemplate.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 