Yup, when left in the sun they become warm like my lovers hands and the light they reflect is as bright as his eyes. Their vibrant color speaks to the sound of his voice when he draws near and whispers in my ear. The taste of his lips is just as sweet and soft as the flesh of the fruit. but never will you hear them sing like he does. At the turn of a week They wither and shrink when darkness consumes their complexion. and that's when the fuzz starts to grow. they rot and they stink like a lost loves memory. and as they fester so does your regret from never consuming them while they were younger and untouched by the corruption of time. and that is what sets them apart from him. through time he gets wiser and the fruit of maturity blossoms with the grace of his actions.