Fruit Squash

30-06-09

Hollow, vulnerable.
Like the scooped-out empty skin
Of an eagerly ripe pawpaw.

You turned me to mush,
Like the pink goey-ness
Of a luscious watermelon.

My insides are raw,
Soured by lime and scrubbed
With gritty guava seeds

My very soul itches,
From the unripe pineapple
That is our pear-shaped end.

My unshed tears fall huge.
Large drops of sugarcane juice
Trapped in the very fibre of my being.

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