I know my surface seems hard
it is compared to yours
but it’s just heavily scarred
from former fruitless wars
where the only lasting damage was
a stone that dreams, but seldom does.
Amidst the smoking aftermath
your tenderness took root
and shaded me from further wrath
while yielding precious fruit
whose luscious bounty beckons me—
oh how sweet that flesh must be.
Are You Reading Me?
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While standing in life’s orchard
with so much sour loot
a stand of trees enjoys the breeze
of a sweet, forbidden fruit
whose scars, though healed but not ignored
emerge as a sizzling smorgasbord.
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