I opened a pack of dried mangoes tonight
And savored how the sweetness
copulate with the sourness in my mouth.
the flesh, not giving at first, resists my advances
but ultimately surrenders to the forceful
penetration of my teeth on its surface
creating an orgasmic experience
so much different from what is being offered by the fresh ones
which yields its flavor to the gentlest probing of the tongue.
What it is like to be a mango that is picked,
Stripped of its flesh
Chopped into pieces
Exposed in tremendous heat
Until it curls up in pain
And becomes dried,
Unmoving and resisting,
Guarding its flavor to the hilt:
A flavor that is so confused
That it is verging on wonderful,
Giving a taste of what it is like to be chosen
Just to be torn apart.