The Tomato


I’m my own worst enemy.
Time and again, I’ve played in my head
How it would all unentangle as we knotted,
In tentacle clasp and covalent chemistries.
Hunters call this the taut line hitch
The type that pulls it all tight.
The common man romances it to making love.

I was a nervous wreck, the actin and myosin filaments
Turning to a ghostly white as all my blood
Was flowing elsewhere, to a little brain,
That in spite of all the nervous energy,
Was starting to stiffen, even shiver like a guitar string
Snout like a pointing dog, showing the direction of the hunt

And I pulled her towards me
Unwrapped the floral printed cotton dress and
Sliced open her body like a fresh tomato
That was perfectly ripened for a little taste.

And we made something that night.
It’s just a blur now. The torn sail made it easier
To bounce through the skyward waves. I was Poseidon
Who gazed at his trident lifting a salt fortress
Crashing against her hull,
The creaking timbers moaning
Like they were about to separate out
And become driftwood

And after a while, we were just
Like the beach and the tide, juxtaposed and yet entwined
Together on the wading zone.
She was in shades of red, like a bloated plum
Blushing in autumn colors.
And I was the slashed bough of a baobab.
I had opened like a showerhead
And sprinkled the sap of my xylem
Through a crack on her surface.

I was no longer the untouched one.
I was now a constellation from head to foot
And the moon shimmered between my dimples.
It was beautiful to discover, even this late,
What everybody knew for so long.

I was now primed like an oiled engine
Pining to get back on the road again. The man who waited
38 long years to see the inner workings of a sliced tomato
And to feel the beauty of cucumber mixing
With the cut slices of a red fruit. .
How beautifully simple a salad was,
Yin and yang mixing in endless geometries,
Surrendering in so many twists and turns.

And, I look at her – stretched like a rubber band
From fingers to toes – sore in places, sweet in others
As I tell myself, why did I wait this long to feel the beauty
Of a ripened tomato; a little succulent fruit,
Cut into half, moist as the tongue.

And all I did was use some brain power
And it was no Einsteinian theory only Newtonian physics.
Of how much gravity a little crack could hide.

I discovered a few things that day;
– G-force and G-spot; and how they collide
To bring out a little French on two blushing visages.
Ooh La la, Le petite mort…

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