Rats eat the rind and leave the fruit
So kingly, like what I would want
Of course, eat the brightness
The skin that wants to spray and hold and bounce
Simultaneously
Not the dull, opaque flesh
Eating the rind, like skiing down a skyscraper
Louis XIV rotting his teeth on sherbet
Never rehearsing without an audience
Sleeping through the boring parts
Serving the tongue, confounding the gut
Skin deep, the whole way around