Fig

You bite into my perfumed skin;

teeth sink to ancient roots,

we have eaten these dark fruits

by Doric columns built under the salt

of sweat of toil of other men.

And absorbed by the dust,

drawn up by tree, drunk on these labours

left to earth, they become sap in the shadows

of temples that stood before -

where the musk of the past meets the sweet of now.

The granular of seed against the soft give

of my flesh offers honey to tongue,

flowered, penetrated by symbiosis 

of tree and beasts, this light and dark

has left its mark in a hidden ecstasy of life.

Image  from pixabay.