Our very Center

That sweet intensity.
Across the lips and onto the tongue.
A hint of pine as the
hairlike fibers tear away
and release the juice.
Lapping at the smooth.
Turning with the peel.
Great bursts of minerals,
and the bold pit centered
there like a shrine.
Grasping at the sticky wet,
and letting the fingers linger
in the sauce.
And we are like this,
men and women
divided at the center,
never finding the great truth
which ripens us,
never quite realizing our core.
Nectar runs down the chin,
tickles the tiny hairs,
absorbs into the skin.
The pulp pulls away,
slurped up,
tasted,
longed for
like a soul we've been
traveling toward since birth.
Heart quickening pace
for the luscious reward.
Consumed by the inward
hunger, driving farther
into flesh.
Craving a new way,
a better way.
Longing for another bite,
another twist of the tongue
to release the
treasure that hides
within.
All this I debate
while eating a mango.