Plum

You fit neatly in my hand
Like a little moon.
If I plant you, will there grow a moon
Tree to pluck moon-colored plums from,
Plum colored moons?

Plum, purple, violet
(Color of kings, of emperors
Of summer days fading into autumn, the end of summer),
I like to roll the sound of your name in my mouth
As if it were sweet plum water between my lips.

Your skin is smooth, dark, opaque,
But flesh: soft, bright, luminescent.
When I hold your exposed body to the sun,
I see all of your veins.
You glow like light through a leaf.

Your smooth, slick skin under my teeth,
With a little pressure, breaks,
Giving way to fresh, sweet
Flesh sliding coolly down my throat,
Falling into me.