To me, at first glance you look like a pumpkin,
Maybe more pocket-sized and verdant or something.
Your dainty little dimples, like craters on the moon,
On your surface shine, burnished, like a balloon.

You feel to me puckered, the texture of leather,
An old mans face from years of bad weather.
My thumb caresses your surface, akin to wax,
You are without deformity, no nodules no cracks.

I hold your body close to my nose,
It’s the bouquet of Christmas, Oh so close.
As the esters evaporate from your dear fruit,
The twang hits my nose and it’s rather acute.

Peeling sunburn as I shed your skin,
Oh! Sensory epiphany! It’s such a sin.
Your juices spurt up into the air,
Barely audible like I say my prayer.

With a hint of defiance I puncture your soul,
Full-bodied ambrosia is what I extol.
The zing as your flesh assaults my palate,
Your fluid it warms me as it reaches my gullet.

You sat in my stocking on a cold Christmas Eve,
With nuts and an apple, which Santa did leave.
Juice in the eye and peel under my nail,
Your wonderful aroma did I inhale.

The smile on my face as I tasted your essence,
Was almost as good as my new Christmas presents!

Oh Satsuma!


By Madcallie