Title: First bite
by Selom from London | in writing, poetry
Finally ripe.
You cut, the juices squirt out.
Fresh.
Small, big. Squares or triangles.
It doesn't matter.
The taste, like music. So many different kinds.
Sweet, bitter, sour, odd, thrilling, sensual or comforting.
Who is to judge how you feel?
Another bite, another bite.
Mmmm, sink your teeth in and take another bite.
The tastes of the fruits run through you.
Paw paw, you cut it open
And there are dozens of black beads staring back.
They say they are good medicine but I just scoop them out.
Bitter, horrid little things.
Mango, I always love to eat the rest from the core.
The juices drip off my chin, I look a mess.
I can't wait till they get ripe.
Fresh.
So I can take that first bite.
I love food. Written four years ago
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