Praise you, your belly and hips overripe like heirloom tomatoes in the sun, Praise your hair, that golden blade of rice, and your skin like a field of swaying dahliahs from afar, Praise the granary of your mouth, and the birds that feed on your harvest from the gaps of your teeth. Praise you, your fingers and the trunk of your thighs, Praise the moonlight of your eyes and the rivulet of your sweat, Praise you Praise be Sweet September.