So ripe it falls right 
into your hand, a love-apple 
snug as a baseball. 

We slice thick wheels and eat, 
deep in each other’s eyes.
Love, you know 

all of time could stop
at just this first-bite moment.
Constellations rivet into place. 

All the delectable, buttery red,
the potent tang, savor, and holy 
mouthwatering smack.

From deep underground
a slow, heavy door scrapes open.

Eat every seed, slurp 
every last scrap of flesh,
until the table is again bare.

This poem first appeared in Madison Magazine.
Used here with the author’s permission.