I am a plum—
io sono la tua prugna
and I fit in your palm,
in its tender arch
upturned, stately
and I curl in its pits
of lines that quake
with the warmth of my weight.
My flesh grazed by your teeth,
a hymn that carries
across the gleaming sea
and intertwines with the tempest
that soaked your black curls
but not your mouth—
your mouth dripping
with my plum juice.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
I am a plum—
io sono la tua prugna
and I fit in your palm,
in its tender arch
upturned, stately
and I curl in its pits
of lines that quake
with the warmth of my weight.
My flesh grazed by your teeth,
a hymn that carries
across the gleaming sea
and intertwines with the tempest
that soaked your black curls
but not your mouth—
your mouth dripping
with my plum juice.
