She sat
Cross legged
Somehow assuming
the shape
Of a taught
bow and arrow

Palms resting open
White and fleshy,
As leavened dough
Before her womb
One over the other
In a tender gesture
Ever so still

She breathed
In and out

And her lips
Came to a subtle smile

And she looked beautiful there
In that peaceful position

And in her top, left palm
Was a cherry
Black and ripe
Ripe enough
To emit an aroma
That would travel
All the way up
To her creamy face
As she breathed it in
And enjoyed.

Its inner beauty
Leaving its flesh,
To be consumed,
Engulfed,
In her delight.

While all the while
Her plump and tender hands
Cradled the fruit
In its full integrity

Consuming it completely
In peaceful pleasure
Receiving its life
Without taking
a drop of its juice

Perched there,
Upon a cushion
Serenely smiling
At the paradox
She contained

The fruit of life, giving
And she, receiving
Without taking
In return.