Harvey
.
. . . and I remember
. . that summer
. when Harvey took me
down those old crumbling
. . . . gray stairs
. . . . to where the honeysuckle blossoms
. . . . . were ripening.
. . . . . He picked a golden blossom
. . . . . . . . off a dangling green vine,
. . . . . . . . and orangello pollen
fell about and dusted Harvey's fingertips.
When he plucked out the middle of
. . . . the blossom
. . . . . and touched it
. . . . to my tongue
. . . . . . . I tasted
. . . . . . . . . Yellow!
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