Golden fruits ~ poem

There are golden fruits upon my tree,
I feed the moths with their sweetness.
At night their tongues unfurl with ripeness,
their eyes transfixed by flickering light.
The darkness of plum against the white
of moon.
Succulence encased in polished skin.
Pierce it. Drive your being within.
Dive into the darkness and suck
the opulence of night.

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