Fig
I lift it,
right before
your eyes,
from a bowl
of cool water.
Dripping wet,
so ripe
its bluish
purple skin's
begun to split,
its pink flesh
soft against
my thumbs
as your breast,
it fumes
its heavy
sweetness.
I tear it
apart, gaze,
and eat.
Never even
blinking,
you lick
its sticky juice
from my fingers.
