Slippery Stealth

Yellow blooms of ripeness.
Brown flecks across your skin. Signs of abused innocence.
You taunt with your heady aroma.
Onlookers grow shy from their roots, turning from cherry red to burning scarlet.
I peel off your velvet dress and suck on your head.
Consume your soft flesh, take in your seed.
At the end you proclaim Yes!
But I’ve had you now, I don’t want your limp, oxidizing envelopment.
I cast you to the floor. Your unseemly form drapes flatly.
Stealthily you wait as I turn my back against the oncoming octogenarian crowd.
I must find my next fix.
I am a serial bananarist.
I will strike again.


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