The precision of a sudden naked rawness

For a while I rustled among cogitations
much too verdant, like one more lobed
profile dispersing the succulence of focus
through green, veined ambiguities.

But then, a taste of what it is like to be
penetrated by the consciousness of fruit
fell, like a word, or hunger, on my tongue -
and I, from that specious footstalk, onto
the dampness of earth, with a thud.

Yes, suddenly ripe – certain, in all pulpous
shades of red, of no other purpose than that
of being gathered, now, between your hands
and then your teeth, with the precision of this
naked rawness, by my own avidity.

And… screw the leaves.

© 2007 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®