I have taken guava from the trails
and suckered it into my mouth,
taken the seeds of the mango
and scooped them out against the flesh,
then buried my face there.
My hands are bloody from taking
blackberries off reluctant vines
and I have woke in the night
to wild pigs feasting
on fallen avocados.
My tongue and hands are greedy –
pulling, peeling, licking
and all the while I am longing
for the seed in the dark earth
the yellow flower
on the vine before the zucchini,
the stem that pushes
startled out of mulch and water
toward sunlight,
replacing hope with desire,
replacing greed with awe
as we love each other into existence
after a long absence –
Fingers, tongue, saliva,
our hands and mouth remembering
every crevice,
every mistaken turn
on the long sigh home.