Your body should be mute
as this globed fruit
in a hollow of leaves
heavy and red.
What you wish
sometimes
when the night draws deep
is for someone else
to be able to hear you.
What you wish sometimes
is for anyone else
to lay a hand
across your back and feel
its thrumming.
It is either pain
or the absence of pain
that defines you. You forget
sometimes how to
tell the difference
between stem and root.
Your body should be
a part
of the world, or
the world should be a part
of your body. You forget
sometimes how to tell
the difference
between pulp and skin.
Both over so soon,
so sweet.
