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2011-08-28T23:08:04-07:00August 28th, 2011|Musings on life|

Ode to plums

Cling-wrap skin
like a water balloon
my teeth puncture
chin is wet
with the fullness
of ripe juice
purple as the sky
before a storm.

I hold my fingers out
to stave off the stickiness
cautious
like you might hold a mouse
or a spider
or a fruit
that spits with its own
volition.

The rivulet has reached
my elbow
I abandon my defenses
and my next bite bursts
a flood onto my face.

The plum dies
a noble death
born
to be
devoured.

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