My love split a plum
With his fingers.
He pressed into the skin with his nail
And drew its blood, its juice.
I watched as his eyes slipped down,
To observe the deep pink of sunsets, opening flowers,
As it all gave way in his hand and
The colours glimmered, reflected, in the liquor of his eyes.
His fingers retracted.
Next I watched, tentative as
His mouth drew the rest of that clear, bubbling, sourly-sweet liquid,
And drank it up in his thick old lips, sucked.
Then his tongue slathered out and dug itself deep into the crevice of the fruit.
When it was cleaved open he watched it,
Black with pleasure as it dripped into his hand –
And my eyes fell to the floor.
A/N: Hmm, juicy. :) Please let me know what you think!