It feels like turning an orange slice outward
Wrenching it into the wrong position
flexing it away from protection
There is where you access the deep roots of its sweetness
where you can consume every last fiber of the blissful, juicy radiance it offers
Yet there is a brutality to it
Force is required
but what hurts the most is the betrayal
The inversion of that spherical skin against its will
There is resistance
there is a tiny rain of its essence lost in the process.
As you wend toward that succulent prize you can feel the breaking that occurs
how unnatural a process it is
how all the shape that it once knew now becomes flaccid.
The strength once contained there now operates only through habit and has lost all meaning.
As your eager mouth mines it’s treasure from the inner white of it’s skin
once all the value you had perceived has been collected
you release it to fall and it remembers the shape it once held.
It reverts back to that sphere
though bereft of its once solid glory
it remembers, it returns.