Plums have just come into season.
Sitting like pyramids of polished garnets under supermarket lights.
I brought them home in a brown paper bag,
Plopped them one, two, three atop the bread box.

I ate one and pursed my lips at the bright acid inside.
Two was sweet and ruby breathed.
Three sat quietly for a week or more, secreting scentless oil and waxy sheen.
I picked it up tonight after everyone had gone to bed.

Rolled it in my right hand for a minute and ran it under the tap.
I felt the cool skin coat my lips, let my teeth pierce its dark casing.
I sucked gently on the flesh, let the juice run over my tongue.
I swallowed and went back for another bite, unconsciously hunching further over the sink.

It wet my fingers and ran down my wrist. I followed the drips down into the basin.
Overcome with a hunger, I took again and again from the squishy plum in my palm.
The red flesh spread over my hand I sucked on the last piece of silky skin and swallowed.
Left with a fleshy pit, I squeezed and found sweetness close to the core.

I watched it bubble out between my closed fist, licked the nectar from each knuckle.
I smeared the scarlet pith over my lips, around my chin, loving how it fell from my jaw.
Burgundy lips creating rivets along fine cracks in my smile, red teeth, and lusty tongue.
I washed my hand and wiped my face.

I smiled into the dark.

I have long loved a woman.
Please don’t let this be as close as I get to her.