Blush

Some juicy packs need friends about,

with laughter dripping, dripping mash,

strands and stringy orange pulp,

sip slipware sliding uncontrolled,

fruit of the spirit, fleshy stuff.

It is no wonder there’s a blush,

and hard stone hidden, brown in gold;

of ways to eat a mango - cold

and frothy, mush-filled lassi glass.

First Published by Poetry Potion