A Fig

A fig inspires awe
when eaten slowly. Raw.

Parting softbud flower,
lapping there, posthaste.
Inhaling her musky power,
& savoring every taste.
Consuming – in a sense –
may seem over bold
but this subtle quince,
has fleshy depths untold.

We've all surely heard
[& hung on every word.]

“Good things come,
to those who wait.”
It's this exotic plum
that I so long to sate.
Parted, tongue within,
kissing slit-to-maw.
Yes, lips to lips akin,
a fig inspires awe.