Cantaloupe.

So like a petulant child

On a sweltering summer day:

Your fingers are warm and sticky

As you are begging me to stay.

Your face is smeared with orange pulp;

Your body is dripping with sweat.

Tiny white seeds glint in your teeth

As you talk of wanting and debt.

You try to scoop out my insides

With your drool and unwanted grip.

If you come near me I’ll leave you

With much more than a bloody lip.

I am not fruit to be tasted;

I don’t want to be scooped out.

You think you can devour me,

That you can drown me in my doubt—

But just because you decided

That I looked good enough to eat

Doesn’t mean that you can touch me

In this oppressive summer heat.

Take your dripping fervor elsewhere,

And stanch your curiosity.

No means NO, or did you forget?

Now stay the hell away from me.

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