Dedicated to the “psychology shifu”.

Carve me in half
to earth’s core enlarged to
red and blushing,
shy sometimes freckled sometimes
misrecognised as white jagged
grins sat in sunken sun
watching ants awake and day
shift their stoves to a shimmer

I’m said to taste
like waterfall,
gushing at the lips, soft
as a sponge, leaking ointment
for the tongue who
is singing laughing feeling
its lover (teeth stained
tongue-pink) massage back
and breasts and buds

I don’t look much, just
green heavy bones; chopped
chewed spat out
forgotten, like that story
your friend whispered
in class last week.
But subtract me, and I will
multiply because although
my destiny’s humble, the moments
I create for you, my dear human,
will not be.


6 thoughts on “Watermelon

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