Fruit

Peel me
Like a banana
An orange
A kiwi
Some multi-colored fruit
My skin is tough
It may be sour if your
Tongue flicks out to taste me
But underneath
That is where my sweetness hides
Even as I ask for the kindness
Of your gentle fingers
Tugging at my tightly woven sheath
I envisage this attempt to expose
Will be nothing but a serrated knife
Cutting deep inside me
For you have no patience
And you are greedy

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Instrument

This musician, he has many claims
His fingers promise he recognizes my instrument
Perhaps he knows my heart is a violin, although out of tune
It can still emit a euphony of sorrow
If his bow is strong enough to thrust across my rusty strings
Or can he see my stomach is a cello?
That if he holds me between his knees
And attempts double stops on my flesh while I smother a giggle
He may just fashion a masterpiece
Does he perceive that my ribs are a piano?
Meant to play a concerto of lament when I am distracted by the salmon sunset
He asserts that if I just submit
He shall compose a symphony
Full of my remorse and discarded love
I duck my head in acquiescence
Knowing full well that his attempts at perfection
Will be thwarted by my never-ending
Inability to be in tune