When you're ripe, you're yellow
And when you're green, you're red.
But here you are, freckled with
Raised moles
Whose origin I don't even
Want to know
All over your skin
Like a shoulder in summertime.
Peppered with pink, blushing
Around your bruises.
And what even is your name?
Even as I take a bite from your flesh
And it bites back on the side of my tongue,
You say to me
"Honey, I'm golden."
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