Harvest. by Maxine Phoenix
VERYTHING SO GOOD, you gorge on it like ripe fruit— / Sickness all-consuming as you grab fistfuls of peaches, / Fleshy pink watermelon, / The soft bodies squeezing out from between your knuckles / Piling onto your lap, / Spilling off the table. // Forgive my eagerness, please / (The fruit, or / Reacting to your goodness; / Wanting all of you, with all of me, always / And fearing the absence); / Forgive my inconsistent openness, please