It sits alone, so ripe
I can smell its heavy sweetness.
I reach in and press the skin,
leaving an impression
Carefully, I pick it up,
stretching my lips to take in
as much as my mouth will accept,
letting the juice gush down my chin
in slow syrupy rivulets.
When all that is left is the pit
and the mess, I gaze down at
nature’s currency in my palm.
Wrinkled and hard,
this could still give life.
But, I throw it away
and wipe my face and hands.
A tidy end to the forgettable slaughter.
Yet, I can still smell its ghost
on my fingers.
Speaking of gushing….(I wrote an entire post about female ejaculation some time ago: Above is an picture I took after having sex with my husband…those two spots are all me. This, my friends, is why companies make these:
So, if you are a ripe piece of fruit like me, with a tendency toward the juicy side, it’s a wise investment. Worth every penny. Besides, I don’t see myself changing my messy ways anytime soon. I love wet, gushy sex – quite possibly the most intoxicating part about it is when I’ve made an absolute mess of the sheets already and then he adds his hot, thick cum to the mix. Really, it gives me tingles. It’s like a warm hug after a hard day…I just sink into it. Lying in it is like my after sex cigarette (since I don’t smoke). Yum.