With A Side Of Sugar

I cannot digest this for youTo do so would take all the days of the sunWarming, blisteringSmoothing and splitting openThe purple of plum-dark skinI can only finesse this for youMy hands crushed the sticky sweet fleshInto a currant, mortar stainedFingers strainedAs the ligaments of each phalangeWorked all the vibrant complexity without a pestleMuted the yellows, …