Such a Waste of Fruit



Potency and weakness mix - within the presence of yearning-cum- truth. Merely a second in the voracious clutch of time and distance, yet a second that will drape and linger - adhered to the flesh of growing fruit.

Dust, just dust, a speckle of flesh in a ray of merciless glow. Dusty old skin that is shed not for the sake of only shedding that which was bitter, but that upon which had been painted. [We paint our lives in chalk and blades] I savour sudden [truthful] words as they are conceived in soft internal whispers and become born from lips untouched - kissed not. A taste of a engaging liqueur that tingles the moist flesh inside my mouth and steals down to my tender belly.

Lips and mouth and insides too, have shed from growing fruit.

The End