Oh blistered gem of delicate weight,
ruby red and alive.
Oh mandala of bumps,
perfectly replicating your patterns
right into my soul mouth.
You are moist and lovely.
The more imperfections you offer,
the better you smell;
your ripeness becomes you.
Even in your delicacy
you offer a small space.
Sometimes the empty place
holds the most flavor.
You circle round your secret compartment.
Your dance with the sun and soil
is medicine and nourishment and beauty.
Let me poke my tongue ever so gently into your center
and deliver you into me.