I buy a ripe papaya from a seller by the road.
She is soft,
She is plump,
She is sweet.
We ride home in the taxi together.
I invite her inside for a drink.
I turn the lights down low.
I light candles.
I play music.
We dance.
I whisper to her,
             “you are beautiful.”

After sharing a bottle of cool, crisp white wine,
I lead her to the kitchen.
I place her on the counter.
Caress her tender skin.
I strip her, piece by piece.
Pulling, urgently, to expose her softness.
She is juicy,
And dripping.
I penetrate her as firmly and gently as a spade planting a seed.
Naked before me,
I scoop her bitter seeds into a bowl,
I dice her into pieces,
Stealing kisses as I go,
And save the rest,
In a glass container,
In the fridge.