Fruit

A heavy hanging beaten fruit

Overriping on the tree

A gentle shake to set me loose

To feel the roots and softened leaves

I love myself and she loves me

At gun point I'll say honestly

A chomped up bit

A scratched up screen

Helps me to believe

I try to sit and spell it out

But I show my teeth and shut it down

I'm bristling into the wind

I don't like to not like this

I need to be profound without

The practice or the failure

I'd rather knife the toaster

Or get careless 'round the staircase

Will I let go

Can I go slow

Will I let go

Can I go slow

Will I let go