GRAPES

I was just yesterday
a plump grape hanging
heavy on the vine
you dug in the ground

I wanted nothing more than to
drop
and stain your fingers,
rose red and
ink swills

I sensed already
your pruning fingers;
they bit like teeth
into the bitter curve where
stem meets
flesh

today

swallowing back the
heaviest drop
that had yet to soak
the ground
or
tint your finger

my bruised and crinkled shell-
cherry red armor
once more;
taut like perky breasts
to pop with a dull
prick

ripen;
rejuvenate;
renegade! once more!

hanging
though not to fall

let your fingers
close