The Vine and I

If I were a fruit

I’m sure I’d be a sight to see

All taut purple skin

A perfectly formed, sensually luscious grape.

I’d glisten with fresh dew in the mornings

Frosted fresh with the chill of dawn.

I’d pop off our vine with a nice, thick plup!—

And you, the grape-eater

You poor, drunken thing

You poor, love-inebriated, amour-blinded being

You see my skin

And you lust for my rich flavor

But the only ones who know the state of my insides

Which wriggle in concealed, bruised pulp

Are the vine and I.

 

Author's Note

Comment and critique welcome.