On Making Fruit Salad

It’s moments like these,
I ache to realise my wildest
fantasies...catch a hint
of ivory-musk drifting
on the ether;

piled high upon your pillow,
pale as star-shine
on a mountain stream,
peach-cheeked Papaya
spilling glistening seeds...

ice-cold half-moons –
slivers of Cantaloupe –
juice drizzling down
your arms, your chin...
and my mouth waters.

Figs – ‘dusky maidens
of the East’, I bring to you
as you tease them apart,
but oh, so gently
as the petals of a flower;

fold back their velvet skin –
the honeyed flesh exposed
like the bud of a rose...
slowly opening

to reveal that scarlet prize,
and, with my lips,
bid me gorge on
those shameless delights
where passions fuse...

A touch of Angostura
bitters...a tornado
of textures, flavours,
and hues that burn
and bleed

and it’s moments
like these, taste
the blush-pink-sweet
of you...
all over again.