In the Ripening

I kept it on the counter,
watching the skin deepen—
sunset bleeding into crimson,
gold pooling in the hollows.

Tonight, she leaned toward me,
and my craving leaned with her—
yielding just enough beneath my fingertips,
taut yet tender under my teeth,
perfume rising warm from the soft suede of her skin.

Sweet and tart tangled together,
a chord strummed with my tongue.

Tomorrow, she would give herself entirely,
juice spilling down my wrist,
the tart now only a tingle
beneath the swell of sugar.

I told myself I’d wait
for the moment she was perfect—
as if perfection lived in only one moment,
and not in every shade of her ripening.