I was swatting bats away to drink the blood

Of watermelons on creepers, in my dreams;

The red was all in my head.

Peaches and cherries

Sweet scented sour berries

And all the fruit I've left un-eaten

Will break today on the threshold of my dried lips

The graves of dead poems will sweeten

With overripe plums felled by a kiss.

I waited and waited for mangoes to ripen

And feed my bitter words some honey

I waited too long, the fruit went rotten

The year stopped being sunny.

With sticky hands, I smeared decaying skin

Onto my throat like balm

But all my songs they were mummied in

By the poison of my palm.

I've been craving an orchard since I killed a fly

That bought the scent of guavas home

My words jumped out from where they lie

On days they aren't out to roam.

They buried themselves in hard shelled seeds

Martyred when too young,

I've been watering and watering beyond their needs

Yet no fruit will bless my tongue.