Text
says take it to work & eat it for lunch & I take it
three days in a row,
because I get busy and forget to eat
& the plum ripens.
by day three, almost too much;
by day three I do not want to disappoint my girlfriend by bringing home the plum again
& so on my way home I decide to eat it -
I am hungry and I am guilty; it is almost wasted
& what a shame it would be when my girlfriend, who loves plums, has set this one aside for
me.
because it is day three and almost too late, when I bite into the plum it bursts,
an explosion,
thick sluice down my palms
across my glasses,
bursts
juice up my nose
sticky bits onto eyelashes
& mouth full of sweet sweet almost too ripe plum,
mouth spilling with the wet coming apart,
I laugh
at the disaster it has become on my face,
at how there are no napkins in the car
& here I am, fists full
of fruit flesh
barely clinging to pit
nothing but my tongue to lap it up.
I laugh because this plum seems to know me in my secret
better than I could know myself:
knows of jealous need to be the special desired thing set aside for my lover’s mouth,
knows better than me what it is to be both wanted and freely given away
because what else is it to be in love?
the truth is
I want to be a plum in her mouth.
I want a bursting so ready
I come out my skin,
I want to be desired down to the pit,
to end tangy fibered between her teeth,
sucked in sweet satisfaction;
when she says she loves,
no really really really loves
plums,
I want her to mean me.
& maybe that plum knew
I needed three days
to truly understand the mess
I am willing to make to be consumed.