Guess the Fruit

I used to play this
game
with my second 
wife.
It was called,
guess the fruit.
We did it in
the morning,
that way, we had
breakfast and sex.
Succulent and sensual.

She would lie naked on
the bed-blindfolded.
I put a Miles Davis CD
on, then went to the
kitchen, and roughly chopped
various types of fruit:
Peaches, Pears, and Pomegranate.
Avocados were too messy.
I would grab a handful of
various types of berries, and
assemble them all on
a plate.

By the time I got back to
the bedroom, she was 
squirming around, and squealing 
like a squeaky toy.
I'd take a piece of fruit and
lightly rub it on her neck,
she would yell,
"Banana"
"Nope," Id' say.
I would dart it across
her lips, and work it
down her neck...
ease it across her pink
left nipple.

She coos, "Peaches."
"No baby, but you are close."
I would make light stabs
down her belly to the top
of her golden mound.
By this time she
would softly moan.
"Fuckkkk...Blackberry."
"Yes! You got it."
Then I would pop it
in my mouth, savoring the
juice and the sweetness.

The game would continue
back and forth until
we finished the fruit.
By that time, we were more
than ready to make love.
We went at it like
dogs in heat.
the sweat and fruit juice
mingling on our bodies,
illuminated by the
morning sun, breaking
sad through the
window.

I am single now, and poor.
I can't afford fruit.
And even if I had a woman,
it would be hard
to play, guess the Mickey D's
dollar menu item.