swallows her whole

she is a pear re-ripened
skin pinkened gold
he holds her perfect shape in his palm
a rich pear scent
pungent recognition
fingertips circle, tentative
promises of juice fill his giddy head

careful not to press, bruise
he remembers how he found her
weepy broken skin
dappled tissue injured brown

it has taken years to be whole

his entire life, he has had her exact pear-shape inside
hollow, waiting for her to slip into place
when he brings her to his mouth, swallows her whole
skin, fibre, flesh, core

carries her in his deep earthy pit
every moment thankful for the perfect pear-self
golden and forever ripe.

©Annabelle Murray