mangifera indica



(n. large oval smooth-skinned tropical fruit with juicy aromatic pulp

 and a large hairy seed)





they’re laying like twins

waiting in a rasta-rainbow skin to be devoured

spherically similar	color coordinated

a fantasy of sisters		would you eat them both at once?



i place a blade on the board		

caress skins	 feel for ripeness 	test how much they give when squeezed

choosing one carefully

i like to take my time		and give individual attention

to all parties involved.



the cutting board has been recently oiled

and bleeds a lustrous wooden shine

as it makes the slicing	just a little bit slippery

i hold the fruit cautiously	not too rough

but the hands cannot stumble.



i expose 

saffron-tinted meat	opaque and lush	thick and tight as

the heavy/heady fog		that nestles into the spot

where ocean meets ground

it tugs at my knife as i cut

teasingly resistant.



when at last i have segmented, quartered

 and placed it into a bowl

i dive into the peel	there is plenty

to be said for leftovers and scraps as i

dig my teeth along the strips		that catch flecks 

of flesh between them.



eating what has clung to the pit comes next

like “licking the bowl” as a child

ingesting the final sweet morsels that would be lost

if not for meticulous adorers

sticky bits are scraped through my tongue

so juicy i lean over the sink

lest the liquids fall down my cheek.

 



satiated for but a moment

my appetite begins to blossom

as if i hadn’t consumed a bite in weeks	

i cast aside the remnants

pick number two up from the counter

“now it’s your turn, my darling

i’ll have you begging for mercy quite soon.”



meeting mango with knife

this one puts up so little a fight

gives in easily		could’ve been cut with a spoon

soon sections are sprawled across

my slicked surface	ready to become bite-size balls of bliss.



it reveals its ripeness		

by sliding down my blade

careening into the bowl to join

the rest, so bright and dark

the color of hidden secrets	that can only be shared

when you are nude in the grass under sun.



i cannot take the time i promised

these leftover skins and seed

my lips are still sticky from the other

and i am licking them 

growing wilder with wanting by the second	

i ask it to excuse my roughness 	please pardon the pain of my teeth

as i’m forcing it into my mouth		a cavern of taste and rapture.



i say “fuck the sink”

let juices drip right down my chin

in streams of daffodil decadence

ingesting every fragment of fruit

till my teeth scratch its white bone center

and i am saturated with ambrosian liquid	

yearning and pleading 	y’know all we ever need

 all we ever need

is just a little more.