Fingerprint Ink

My journey in authentic vulnerability


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Waking Up

So I loaded up that old Cadillac’s trunk,

As full as it could get.

Prickly, yellow pineapples,

the taste of summer, the feel of Lent.

I drove that wide float-mobil

until I saw the signs:

Beach Ahead

and cruised slow to a stop,

in the large parking lot,

with the sound of the surf in the air.

I brought the sharpest knife I have

to hack those babies up.

Sticky, syrupy juice ran down

a pool of golden love.

Slowly, slowly they gathered round

those brave enough to be curious.

Tentatively took a piece,

daintily nipped a bite.

Nervous awareness filled the air

And people still waited.

Waited for

instruction, direction, explanation.

You see pineapples,

but I see Desire.

Food that demands

all of your presence,

attention,

awareness.

Pricking your fingers,

juice running down your chin,

flavour exploding inside your mouth.

Allow yourself to be woken up

to the golden yellow promise

of sweet freedom,

a summer high.

You see a pineapple,

But I see Desire.

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