v u l v a l i c i o u s summer fruits 2012-07-13 // 1:58 a.m. You smell like sunscreen, even in mid-winter. But especially now. Warm skin and the taste of cherries on my lips. I'd eat you by the bucket full, bite and suck and spit the pits til my mouth was tired and my fingers were stained. You'd make such a pretty mess. But let's not. Not now, anyway. Don't let's get too close. Keep me back, so you're just out of reach. I wanna want you more than the first ripe peach off the tree, the one that tastes like it took all the life that spring had to give it. Spice and warm, blushing from the sun, the sweet strings between my teeth. Skin broken and juice dripping down. And I have dared. The universe, now disturbed, seeks nothing but this disquiet, the smooth trap of my jaw and the tear of my teeth. You'd ask me for it too, if you could. The wanton crush of summer fruit, the steam that rises off the pavement after the rain. You'd ask for everything, and I would swallow you whole. back-forth