With thanks to M.F.K. Fisher

The kitchen basket is almost empty
a single red tomato moated with sunlight 
waits for my touch
 
Time is short, blooms of mold 
will soon claim it and I don’t want to lose
this object of my tongue’s lust

Perfectly ripe, its sleek skin 
hints at a tantalizing split 
ignored for now

and I dismiss the temptation to ravish
without finesse, preferring
the small pleasures of anticipation

So, slices fanned onto a blue moroccan plate
dressed in a squeeze of lemon, green olive oil
and basil slivers

become lunchtime’s non pareil
Each piece a grapeshot burst against my lips
already parted in pleasure

Originally published on 1/8/2021; reposted with small edits.