I ate of watermelon sweet.
I barely chewed its pulp as it—
It slid along my throat so slick,
Like water sliding off a rock,
Its smoothness trickled down my neck.
I sucked its juice and tasted life—
A slice of pale red paradise.
Inhaling breaths between large bites,
I choked upon a little seed—
A small black spot—reality.
Christina Knowles (2000)