My body, wide, hungry,
a gourd
with a brittle husk,
a split pulp, bruised flesh
and pungent tenderness,
ready to be spiced
with the customary zeal of my country,
served hot, battered,
in a blue bowl
The sun shines through,
as it shines onto white teeth:
noon will find me firm and fine
genuflected in a sugared heap.
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