Persimmons
Does sucking lemon leave you licking your lips.
Does a lime leave you light and fresh.
When I even think of touching the tongue,
to either of those it turns my mouth inside out.
But not as bitter and bad as the not ripe persimmon.
When persimmons have peaked before picking,
which is usually after the first hard frost.
No more delightful delicacy dares to compete.
It is absolutely aromatic and awes with sweetness.
But tasted before that time takes courage
the second time it is tasted.
For it puckers the palate
galls up the gullet
tortures the tongue
and makes your mouth mindful
of a rough coating everywhere.
Luscious love is a little like that.
Building from lust, bursting forth in bloom,
bringing deep biological urges
blossoming forth after mutual respect
begins to bear witness to bonafide adoration.
Let it linger and languish low profile letting
nature nourish each nuance until the frost
of fastidiousness finds love complete.
Resplendently ripened and reveling in readiness
it awaits only the arrival of articulated amours
to be plucked as is the ripened persimmon.
© Aug 28 2010 Charles Henderson
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment