Vanilla frozen cream
over slices of pink-orange inner flesh,
steam as something cold
is lain upon something hot.
The fluffy-whiteness spreads
the soft-firm peachiness apart, leaks
into the space between, gathers
in a small puddle of thick milkiness,
almost pearlescent.
Rolling-back eyes,
scent of precious fruit,
burning cold bowl
in hand, contents slide down the throat
all at once, swallow.
