Because summer was so late and long,
They have hung, bulbous, on the plant.
They are full and aching, with deep clefts and cleavages:
Huge red summer lamps.

They are curved and full, proud and dominant:
But their fatness, fullness, fleshiness
Is just what I want. And it is the first cool day all month.

So they are plucked:
Cleaned, stroked, oiled, caressed,
And laid in a warm bed.

While they roast, the house aches with the scent.

When they are blistered, hissing, burstful,
They are wrapped in a cool bowl and set aside to sweat.

I am aching: we are ripe and full:
We want harvest. Summer has made us heavy and warm.
We are wrapped and set aside to sweat.

The peppers are cool, full and soft,
So I peel their flesh (and stain my fingers),
And lay their strips out for tasting;
Tender and moist,
Their sweat is summer-sweet.