love, read, write

How disgusting it is to see you eat fruit
like it is yours. That you picked what was in sight,
that somehow you could bring your lips to it
and give it a voice, a story. Birds can do
better — they choose carefully.
You don’t even look. Cherish your fruit that rots
knowing full well those seeds won’t bear you joy —
your first bite took it from all of us long ago.