Peeling Appeal

It feels good cupped in my hand, rounded, swollen, as though the slightest squeeze might burst through skin aching for relief. I can feel innocence lost as I pluck it away from Momma’s heart-strings. I go ahead and give a gentle pinch to test, not afraid of its juices, but rather excited by the prospect of a squirt of relieved pressure.

Fingernails in the vanguard rake over chilled and dimpled skin... once, twice, pushing... digging, forcing their way, but the skin is supple and strong, holding them at bay. Teeth follow after, excited to finish fingernails’ incomplete work. Teeth grab and hold, the skin itself bitter but promising, incisors directed by careful, patient muscles, muscles wanting to break the skin, to taste the life flowing underneath without immediately destroying it, the muscles wanting some time to savor their sweet victory. Once through, teeth heed the call to halt. The canines, the carnivores inside are disappointed, anxious for action themselves, wanting to dig in hard, and to own the meaty flesh... to taste it, to swallow it, to make it theirs.

Lips encircle the tiny piercings, wet skin on skin, pressing so that the mouth can suckle, and the tongue probe the leaking wounds. Juices bubble to the surface, sweet, young, ripely flowing juices. Teased, the mouth sucks harder. Eager, the teeth clamp down. Hungry, the fingers rip and claw, tearing the skin away to reveal sugary pulps protecting life giving seeds, the pulps held together by transluscent sinews and the sticky-sweet blood, and it is done. The consumption of its loins is complete.

If I am what I eat, than I am now this... the tenderest shoot, a most beautiful blossom, the womb holding the seeds of life... a juicy orb of Florida sunshine.

It is a good thing to be. The fingers greedily pluck another.