Pears

I am hungry for pears.
Like him,
they are sweet and gritty,
bruised and earthy,
unassuming,
with an ample stem.

In the morning light,
he watches me take 
a firm, 
fleshy bite
until all that remains
is the glisten of nectar 
on my lips.

I nestle my foot 
into his lap,
and he cradles it 
like an injured bird.

This desire is nothing new.
For centuries,
strangers have sought
each other's names,
felled trees 
and raised houses,
made children
by its primal fires,

and yet,
this love,
this flame,
this fruit
is a genus and species
all its own.

~