Rude Poets Entry: Fruits : Lychee Love #rudepoets

“See what I mean?”
Her tongue tipped pink
skittered the swell
of the taut membrane;
a lychee fruit
weeping opalescence
as the moon rose
coloured just the same.

Juice seeped through
invisible pores.
She smoothed closed lips
over its curves,
then pressed an open kiss
to the milky globe
and sucked.

“Exactly like it,”
I mimicked her indulgences.
“Same size.”
“Same shape. Feel the cleft?”
“M-hm.”
We sat on the stoop
in the moonlight,
companionably fellating
imaginary lovers.

Holding it delicately
with thumb and forefinger
inches from her mouth,
she said: “It’s not polite
to bite into a lychee
in front of a man.”

I closed my teeth around
the plump roundness,
a flood of nectar
streamed down
my chin.

“Makes them nervous.”