My Ripe Nectarine

I want to tell you
about my ripe nectarine.
How this smooth-skinned fruit
sails across my mouth
before the first bite.

My teeth sink between its curves
as sweet flesh saturates my tongue.
Its hips are untouched.
I nibble on one,
then the other.

Cold juices kiss my skin.
The more they release,
the warmer they become.
A floral scent fills the air
while a sticky coat of tenderness
gleams on my hand.

I lick the nectar off each finger.
Honey remnants are swallowed
before my lips cling to the
hard core, sucking its flavor.
There is nothing more satisfying.