Mangoes In The Rain

She sat caressing the fruit in the curves of her hand; luscious and naked, the mango sat tantalizingly. She could feel the golden–orange flesh seeping through the windows of her fingers. There was no distance between what she was going to taste and her. She sunk her teeth and then her lips into the sun-kissed sweetness.

It was counter-intuitive to experience divinity through the senses, but that moment couldn’t lie to her. The juices of the mango pulp ran down her fingers in sticky streams, and she licked them off in childlike pleasure. Her eyes were in love with the mango. She ate around the seed. Demolished the peels and sat in awe of how she felt. Satiated.

She looked up to the skies and wanted the rain to release the stains glued to her cheeks and lips. She hadn’t ever eaten so boldly and without inhibition. The rain did as it was told that day. It landed on her pleasure-warmed cheeks and washed the remnants of her sins away. She knew at that moment that she had the immeasurable pleasure of living fully. Head stoked to the sky, she laughed, a deep-rooted smile radiating from her insides.

Even for just that moment, she had lived.