I run my hands across the mounds of bosom-like fruit, indiscriminately shaped like ample bottoms and impregnated bodies, heavy with juices, ready to pop. I’m drawn to their curves, caressing their momentary shapeliness in awe of their loveliness, each one captivating in it’s own way. I’m having an affair with the tomato crop, a hot summer romance, that will fade into fall.

~Joy