About a fig

Last night I admired a fig.
A soft suede bulge
pregnant with promise of sweetness,
profusely perfumed,
designed to bewilder,
eager to surrender..to the touch
or to the tooth.
Once halved by my lustful incisors,
this supernatural sac revealed
a Dali painting of sorts,
a snapshot of bursting delight,
a tapestry of a raging sea,
a multitude of sugary alien worms
so craftily fluffed in plush disarray,
so lavishly hued in amethyst, amber and gold.
Last night I devoured a fig
with aesthetic abandon.

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