Chosen

Was it my plump shape

that made you pluck me from my branch?

Was it the way I hung,

swaying gently with the wind?

Was it my olive complexion, that invited your grasp?

Did you notice the bruise on my hip?

Will you discard me when you do?

Or did you smell my sweetness

when you walked by?

Was it the way you fantasized my taste,

that drew you to me?

Is it me you want to sink your teeth into,

or are you always this ravenous?

What will you do when you reach my core?

Will you spit me out? Toss me to the side?

Or will you grow an orchard with your gentle hands?