Ripe on the branch,
I’ve become your burden.
Heavy with fullness,
I am now too much—
too much sweetness
beneath my skin;
too much of an ache
for eager fingers to pluck;
for an enticed mouth to bite.
Ripe on the branch,
I’ve always meant to be devoured—
enjoyed; without apology.
Now, with each breeze,
I beg to be set free.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 6:42 PM UTC
Ripe on the branch,
I’ve become your burden.
Heavy with fullness,
I am now too much—
too much sweetness
beneath my skin;
too much of an ache
for eager fingers to pluck;
for an enticed mouth to bite.
Ripe on the branch,
I’ve always meant to be devoured—
enjoyed; without apology.
Now, with each breeze,
I beg to be set free.
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