Three-fourths red

Repent, open up your mouth
It's the sound of a 
golden-yellow high-note
Self-recorded pericarp
Starches in your admonition
My menstrual totem 
on the wet grass
Watching me fall 
into the holes you dig
I can't recall a time
It wasn't work to stand firm
Always knew you'd take me 
down, but I keep pulling 
each one from the cluster
Standing in the walkway
Reddish ring around the palms
Why come for me now 
that I don't want it?
Put away the shovel, 
dust off the strings
Too late to reminisce,
When it was easily separated from the stem
Memory is a dry season, 
one that leaves me fruitless
Why stay up thinking 
of how ripe it is,
When you can't have it?
Climbed up on your rooftop,
From the lawn chair, 
I heard you scream
Honey words 
about the taste of it
Glorifying the pulp, 
when the life is in the seeds

From 'I can't play where I'm not supposed to' 2015