Farmer's Market (not a) Sonnet 3

It went a different direction, maybe because I was out of town and writing from the other coast.

----
(Now I've changed up the rhythm,
as I dream of life with him,
and my sonnets have shifted to some sort of song.
But a change isn't harmful,
though it might be alarm-ful
that I'm playing with rhythm and rhyme for so long.)

Today is a Saturday,
a day for a market
of farmers and lovers and dreamers and me.
But I'm far away,
in California(y)
and I won't see my beau, the boy from the barn.

He is selling tomatoes
and celery and carrots,
and I'm far away by an ocean out west.
A continent parts us,
a landmass gi-normous.
I wish I were back home,  a reluctant guest.

And I wish I could see him,
if only while shopping,
for he's become a new anchor, a mark in my week.
For the contact is grounding,
his existence astounding,
and he offers me something that I seem to seek.

And his smile is alluring,
and his arms are like willows,
and his hair is as dark as the nightfall at sea,
And I surely do miss him.
What I'd give for to kiss him,
And take him to live with me for eternity.

Farmer's Market Sonnet 2

The produce at your stand is plump and sweet,

Inviting all of us to take a taste

Of berries, peaches, golden corn (or maize)

A plethora of beauty for to eat.

You check us out and calculate our bill,

But some of us are also checking you.

We wonder if there's something we could do

To bag you up and take you home.  And still,

You joke and grin.  Perhaps you're unaware

Of all the heat your smile generates,

The passion that your compliment creates,

The lightning bolts that  crackle in your stare.

But I suspect that part of you can see

The growing feelings you produce in me.