Maybe time will work at me Like a mango. Softer and softer, full to bursting, I just want to bloom. To burst and explode, And then be done, and rest. Bruised, perhaps. Soft, sweet.
Maybe I will mellow. Maybe I will lose the shine of being stretched over all my insides, All the swimming flavor, Veined together, contained and fibrous. Maybe the stem will snap at last, And I will hit the earth, mangled. Juices ****** away, Soaked into the ground that split me.