Passionfruit

A burning hunger 

roils deep- I am deprived

and lusting for the 

right taste, a ravening bite

that will spill juices and

fill me. 

The fruit of five wounds?

I can think of three, at least,

calling out for sweetness,

for sticky syrup.

The first molecule on my lip

and more is needed, craved, 

spiraling upward in frenzy, 

crescendo of tension and

sweet, dripping, slavering

drops, falling down

covering the coals of this 

yearning fire with a glaze

of spill.