Ripen

If anger should spike in your heart
And bear fruit
Like some prickly pear,
Gladly I would suffer the insult
To my lips and tongue
As my teeth peel away
The rind of lost faith
And seek
The Temptation of Eve
Within.

If disappointment
Sours your soul
Until a knobbled quince,
The quintessence of memory
Ugly and bitter,
I will wrap you
In the heat of my embrace
Until you are released
In clouds of honey, clove and wine.

You know I am rabid
For you
And if you worry
I will devour you
Like ripe fruit
You are right.