Red Pomellos

Sweet
is an overused word
when it comes to describing bodies
as is honey or peaches or
other non-citrus fruits.

Why not red pomellos
split with a serrated knife
gleaming with murder
in its many segmented eyes
laying in a disguised serene
upon a cracked porcelain plate?

These are the bodies
I wish to know- the broken,
the bruised, pocked with disease
and past sorrow. I prefer them oozing
guilt that makes me pull my lips
back from my teeth
in a grimace and utter sheezzz.
Bodies that make you want to scoop out
all their innards, leave their mangled shells
on the counter and pronounce yourself done
and done.