Fig Tree Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Strolling in a garden, I bent
And stooped beneath a branch.
Looking up I saw
Two swollen sacks, swaying,
With darkened skins unwrinkling,

Tapered above but bulging below,
Suspended before my eyes.
Sagging with the burden
Of their sweet seeds inside
About to burst,

I cupped one in my hand.
Warm bulb, heavy in my palm,
I dared to stroke my fingers down
As my thumb rolled up
In a gentle squeeze and whispered:

“Dare I pull you close to me,
To tease you with my breath,
Draw you in beyond my kisses,
Hold you captive with my teeth
And caress you with my tongue?

“Right now, would you again retreat
(Instinctively to hide,
Unable to endure such pleasure
And NOT be in control) or
Surprise me with your trust? '