The pulp fills my mouth
As a bite through the skin,
As sweet and tender as
I imagined when plucked
The plum from the box,
Dew dripping from it
As I plunge in
Only not as cool as thought
This flesh would be,
Warm against the flat
Of my tongue
I am reluctant to swallow,
This embrace, this taste
This consumption I ache
To achieve, my mouth
Filled to the prim by it all,
But I still want more,
Another bite, taking all
That I can get into me,
Thinking I won’t get more
This hunger, this needed,
The emptiness I ache to fill
One precious bite at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment