Fruit Bowl

Hand your love a fruit bowl

Sweet cherries for her soul

Pits clothed in handsome fruit

Her gentleman’s pursuit

Rich colors on her lips

Dainty chews while she sips

When she looks back at you

Her teeth fruited with goo

Smiles like a Georgia peach

Her charm just out of reach

And says with a big smack

While pushing up her rack:

I am resurrection

Your final erection

All of your dreams come true

A trifling girl and shrew

Some honey on your fruit

A sweet thing by your suit

Munching on your kiwi

While you try to wee-wee

You handed me your life

Nibbles without a knife

A mushy rainbow stew

Barely ripe, then adieu

Not much with which to play

Your life a tepid lay

But sugar on my tongue

For me your life twice young

So hand me all you’ve got

I’ll save it from the rot

Your soul a swallowed pit

Born again in my shit

Dried and spread on a root

A melon from your soot

I may be just a girl

A fruit balm with a curl

But mine is the fairer

A sex tinged with terror

Willing to eat the fruit

While mending Adam’s suit

Your new life is in me

Blossoming on my tree

You really have no choice

Your fruit bowl is your voice

A plea to be pitted

Spit out, and then fitted

You’re the trifle, my man

Nutted prune in a can

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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