POEM: “Ripe” — Literally men have died to touch it.

Fruit Sex


“Fuck your morals
I was devastated.”
Rejected was his word
as I tried to explain it.

It was that,
and circumstance.
My fear.
& You had a girlfriend.

Best sex he ever had.
“But we didn’t even fuck!”
Ever try it on in mind
Better than talking or touch.

At 17, maybe less or more
We sat this close on my porch
with strict physical limits
yet minds, and eyes, ideas soared.

At 44
“My god that rough little piece
on the front wall is to die for.
Literally men have died to touch it.”
No more. Please, no more.

Fuck my morals
I will be devastated.
Accepting into that world
Crossing boundaries again.

And I always remembered
The scene naked on the chair
And brought that to
my lovers over years.

And I had been wondering
if the ridges were aged
The wrinkles like teeth
And if I was too old for this?

So to hear his desire
The heat shot higher
Face flush, breath lost
He was in, I was on fire.

And I was 17 again
With the power of my years
Fucking him so right this time
Fucking it all up for them.

And if you taught me what
Life is short, take what you want
But the devilish blindside
You could carry inside
Was too much weight on my guts.

but you got the writing
You’d say.

“Write me,”
instead of “Fuck me,”
is what he’ll need to say.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal, April 2019