Lunch is a Knife’s Edge

The avocado’s belly-heavy body splits clean, revealing its seed, polished like a child’s marble, or the tooth I left under my pillow before I learned what parents keep. The flesh, yellow-green, curls in on itself self-consciously exposing a betrayal of aging— edges browning. I promised to make guacamole, but the blade waits patiently, and no one is watching. How does one resist the temptation?