Mango Morning

We shared a mango this morning – sticky, sweet, tart

under melting dew and lazy sun,

molten rays gleaming, winking,

spilling the secrets of a certain sinful sweetness

through the rustle of gossiping trees

two chins covered in nectar, and laughter, basking

in this morning of after,

this garden of Eden

where things are softer,

and there’s a quiet thrill

hiding inside every ordinary object like

the empty cup on the table

and the strand of hair on the pillow

glinting knowingly in the morning light

All witnesses, shared conspirators

to the moments belonging only to us

and to last night’s

moon who blushed

and closed her eyes and hummed as she

soaked our sheets with her glow

spotlighting some beautiful sin, some sinking skin

until the slow spin

of the new day came

with its obnoxious

birdsong, and light, and now

we’re choking, laughing, breathing

—mango eating,

defiantly like your outline,

golden, flushed, clear,

existing on the butt of a morbid inside

joke, a sly innuendo

that makes us feel

Alive

I suck the seed, sorry, no, the pit, I mean

Cue a stupid wink, a clumsy

laugh

Pregnant

pauses, playful dark

green-red tinted skin and soft

forbidden yellow flesh melting

into the humid air,

this human air

thick in lungs and throats and tips of tongues

The russian roulette of things to say

I excuse myself into your apology until they fold into each other flirtatiously in a mumbling, smiling heap of breath and we

meet on a mossy mango patch

A promised land

underwhelmed, relieved, giddy

Comfortable discomfort

gently brushed off until

everything is funny

pulsing with the rush of tender electricity

Let me pluck the mango strings from your teeth

and play a song with them

Let me lodge myself into those gaps instead

and hold my breath and body boldy

inside the periphery of

your personal space just

for a minute, without squirming

Let me lock eyes and limbs

with you for that minute

on this sticky sweet

mango morning