You say you like the prickly
feeling, aroused on your tongue,
After tasting a kiwi. The involuntary
shudder reflected in the oval silver of the
The pungent smell prickles your nose
awakening your senses, and
releasing a sea in your mouth.
Stretched out in the afternoon sun,
you delight in picking up a
green bulk, full of seeds
with no future.
You dig into it, curving around
with your spoon to get to the core.
That is what you do,
to get to the core.
But curving around doesn’t always
obtain what you desire,
may that be the covering or the core.