FIG
TREE
Strolling
in a garden, I bent
And
stooped beneath a branch.
Looking
up I saw
Two
swollen sacks, swaying,
With
darkened skins unwrinkling,
Tapered
above but bulging below,
Suspended
before my eyes.
Sagging
with the burden
Of
their sweet seeds inside
About
to burst,
I
cupped one in my hand.
Warm
bulb, heavy in my palm,
I
dared to stroke my fingers down
As
my thumb rolled up
In
a gentle squeeze and whispered:
"Dare
I pull you close to me,
To
tease you with my breath,
Draw
you in beyond my kisses,
Hold
you captive with my teeth
And
caress you with my tongue?
"Right
now, would you again retreat
(Instinctively
to hide,
Unable
to endure such pleasure
And
NOT be in control) or
Surprise
me with your trust?"