The rarer fruit is sweeter when despite
Her bruising skin, she sits atop the bowl
On seasons not her own. A juicy bite
So sweet and thoughtful, full of all the soul
I need to last another day. She's ripe
And I am hungry. Fallen fruits await decay
Yet never her. I'd thought she'd be the type
To know about her rare, forbidden sway.
But all the more I stare into her pit
I think about the farm she's stolen from
And what a better tree she'd make if it
Was not for me and my **** hunger. Plum,
So stuck upon your twig, you'll never know
What joy there is to have in letting go.