The prickly fuzz gives no ether
of something favorable.
A canteloupe has no secrets,
place an unopened melon beneath your nose
and you know to eat it.
Not a kiwi, it's too modest, too humble.
So you smell it and nothing, not a tingle.
But then you slice it open.
It's a smell that skips the olfactory
a smell that permeates the tongue first, as if
you already have tasted it, like a forgotten yesterday.
Sweet and tangible but mellow, so mellow.
You are both hungry and satiated.
Ready and afraid, for it always leaves you guessing.
see the way it looks so bland, sneaky little fruit,
if it didn't look so pregnant I don't
think we would eat the things...