Temple

 

For the colour was the bright cherry around which her lips popped

as bursting with the fruit, as the flesh above her hips, soft

 

The Watermelon fresh, makes a slick cut sliced clean

And peel off her broken skin, sacrificed tangerine 

 

Ripened in the heat and left under a burning sun 

the strawberries stained her fingers, juices flowing, blood is run

 

Passion fruit poured, from bowled flesh to her upturned hands

Pomegranate seeds crawl across horizon line, of bitter fruit on soured lands

 

The pulse of raspberry, plump and sweet

Curved as her once beating heart and good enough to eat