fruit

fruit we sway in the wind but i grasp the air in hopes it can sweep me from this branch this branch- preserving the purity of my skin- is forced to let me fall i rip from the loosening grip of my cluster a wound on my side- evidence of a new chance- gifted by violent departure i feel the air on my palms i smash into the ground mud covers my face. i gaze up to the branch- my past shimmers in the glaring sun. a blue bird flies overhead her beauty exerts itself effortlessly over my grime. she parades her freedom as the mud hardens under the kiln of the sun i signal to the bird. recognizing my flare, she glides to my side and picks me apart as i lay here- opened up to this beast- i listen to her speak her tongue mumbles a foreign language one that doesnt wish things away a language learned from experiences observed in her fulfilled juvenility when all that is left is the muddy skin on my back, i sink into the earth decaying for more time than i ever spent on a branch why would i ever excuse myself from youth to preserve my expiration? i forfeit my experience then, to gain a lonely breath here