you, whose body is forged of a dew beyond the murky waters -
and the glistening teeth of a countless ray of corals, a
marine bliss in it’s whole - why do you shun the world
out? why do you seek solitude entirely in your clam? for
out there, an explorer - albeit one - is eager to open the
clam and see the magnificent pearl that rests among the
oceanic pink - you who is bathed in the light of the sun from
the blue storm, of nimble hands that caress the sea and waves
with such beauty. you, who radiates like a fruitful gem of the ocean,
why do you hide yourself from all? you, the pearl in solitude,
let loose of the burden that has confined you and reveal your iridescence
to the world, for this world is already letting loose of the shine it once held
so dearly.

i was born pure sweetness.
a fruit born from my mother
delightful on the tongue.

you were pure acidity.
a fruit grown bitter
hostile to taste.

how does one drop of bitterness
flood, so deeply, the sweet?
is there any way of tempering acid?
or will i stay like this… burnt?

A fruit fly flies by:
     There's enough apple
          for us both.

$ummer Apple tree$:
     iPhone$ ripen in the $un—
          firstfruit$ of knowledge.

I know the guiltiness of a dusty Bible
Brown specks slipping off my *******
Diminishing into my morning coffee,
To make the blend taste a whole lot bitter

Empty sentiments; too deep to be openly cast-off,
Once of someone who had the heart to their devotion
Nowadays it had proved heartless;- so fruitless:

Still a tree is judged by its fruits.

I think I actually
Hate this feeling.
You’re not supposed to
Make me nervous.
You’re not supposed to
Plant seeds in my mind,
Strange seeds that grow strange fruit.
Or, at least you didn’t used to.

I don’t know why I bother at all.

I never did say
That it was a good idea
Did I?

We used to have a passionfruit tree growing in our garden.
From ours or the neighbours?
The weather never got hot enough here.
They’d shrivel up fawny dappled globes, dry.
The fence would buckle under the weight of effort.

Look at me with your many eyes, with your many eyes:
Five rays dyed purple
Died waving a white flag
In the coughing August breeze
Died wide-eyed. Turn them to me.

Purple. Sharp. Feelers, whiskers, spikes.
Begging and pleading and clinging and not.

Take me back to bleeding your seeds in your free moments
Opening up, arms in arms.
On your childhood bedroom floor.
You won’t look at me the next morning.

You tell me your insides are like mucus
I can only taste the sweet
I can only taste the sweet I
Can only taste the sweet I can only
Tastethesweeticanonlytastethesweet.
Many eyes.

Change me.
It was something you said in your last hours
And I can’t quite recall.

We are cutting down the tree tomorrow.
What if you had managed it?
What if the summer was warm?

I ate a ripe fandango
and washed it down with Tango
it tasted just like mango