You are a funny looking fruit, hard sleek orange shell with a tomato like top round and dented.
I have yet to eat a ripe one, always the taste is the same.

I open you up-forgetting what the inside is like
because after the first bite
all I recall is my mouth sucked dry by your vacuum like powers
depleted of all liquid from my throat
what gifted taste remains, is a dry cotton acid
I gag, and damn myself again, for being tempted by your name.

The Taste of Love

warmed by the sun on our caribbean honeymoon-I will never forget the taste of papaya at breakfast under a palm tree canopy overlooking the sea- milky black caviar seeds filled the curved center of hot sweet orange flesh


pluots and nectarines
my shirts stained
with your summer plump juiciness