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.