Every time I come to the kitchen
you invite me to bite into you
and eat the pulp of your existence.

How do you feel when I arrange
other fruits delicately in this bowl,
belly to belly and skin to skin?

The vulgar readiness of bananas,
the papayas swollen with brief pink milk,
and mangoes ripe with imminent bursting.

My intention is to consume you
when I'm totally empty of tenderness
and my tongue is wickedly reckless.

I'll let the waiting sudden juice
arrive slowly in my eager mouth
and onto my caressing hands.

I want to break open a new life
and discover your last impulses,
until I reach the seeds at your core.