with permission by my favorite Norfolk VA poet: (copyright) Kindra McDonald
You do not bite a fig so much as kiss one.
It melts tender on the tongue and makes you blush.
How you lean into it,
How you meet it from tree to hand to mouth,
Plucked ripe, soft pregnant swells of purple
Parachutes gently given unto lips.
How sweetness bursts in your mouth
Caresses your speech, makes it foreign to the ears,
Summersaults and winds its way to your throat
Where you swallow all its ancient ripeness,
Its bursting pureness,
Its deep full tongued maturity,
The syrup of ready.
The leaves shade their eyes from this romance,
Such intimacy makes them tremble.