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.
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