Riddles with Fruits
Naranjita, I strip away your
navel-blush veneer of zest and peel;
your pithy heart falls apart,
yields to me a citrus kiss.
Sunday afternoon's best savoured
like a ripened fruit, halved, scored,
turned inside-out into an exquisite,
Unswallowed, it catches halfway down
his throat, pomaceous core,
like a capybara dissolving
in the serpent's insidious maw.
Bear grenadine from Solomon's garden,
arils pressed, fermented into wine,
and cupped in goblets sweet
like my lover's breasts.
Sliced along its latitudes, this
flightless world ellipses into
translucent green, sunbursts from its
center into seed.
Do I dare to taste your sweetness,
singing each to each, afar,
only to find your heart`s core
clenched and clingstone hard?
Baskets full from an afternoon
of picking, we sat by the wild bushes
and, by the handful, fed each other
bursts of syrupy sky.
Hot as chili, sour like lime,
fish sauce salty, sugarpalm sweet,
refreshing as mak hoong -
love's Thai salad of contradiction.
Night falls, your soul's desert
blooms in white. Blossoms of fruit,
pulp of arid salvation, blood-red and
crowned with thorns.