Coal of fire, velvet furred,
a bullet in its black heart.

Soft flesh barnacled
to hard stone.

Bite into that pulse,
that sponge of moist sun.

Colour floods the mouth
citrus gushes, bursts

a brief light show,
mashing sweet pulp.

Fingers, wet with the miracle
are worthy of a lick.

All that’s left is
a folding away of lips.

A drying of hands.
The last ghost of flavour.

Copyright © Colin McGuire 2014

McGuire is a Scottish poet, from Glasgow, who has recently published a pamphlet with Red Squirrel Press, titled: ‘Everybody lie down and no one gets hurt’. You can read more of his poetry at:

About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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