Dirty Fingers

I can't even remember the last time I felt
             Safe
With someone. 
Safe giving every bit of me without hesitation
             A gift
Perceived as low hanging fruit
             A smile
That must equal Easily Impressed

But I was not built within the flesh
Of a bruised apple
You can't squeeze my quieted worth between your fingers like an overripe plum dangling from a weighted branch
             My gift
Is not a thick skinned citrus bittersweet going rancid…
But thank goodness for thick skins

No. My gift
Is the tree
With branches that stretch unafraid of sunburn
My gift is rooted burl labyrinth 
Depth giver and complex
Cut me open and
I just get more beautiful

Simply a gift
Not
A simple gift

I can save you the trouble of stooping so low
Tell you on lips not moistened with the generosity of your attention
That I am not left over
From ever slimming pickens in your devoted orchard
             But a delicacy
Set too high to be plucked with careless dirty fingers
Meant only to be consumed by all senses 
             Give me more
Than your scorched tastebuds
Because goodness only knows
Where your mouth has been

I could save you the trouble of telling the difference
Between Plump. and Grateful to be picked 
Voice to you the unpopular opinion that I.
Am not for cool, dark cupboards and paper bags
Sweet nothing spoken without the sugar of a lie that I.
             Am by far.
The sweetest thing on the menu.

A feast like none you've ever dreamed
             Requiring more
Than just tastebuds 
More than just breathing my name over your tongue like a gentle morning breeze
More than sucking honey dew from waiting fingertips
After discarding the flower that you decided was just grateful
To be picked