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“Eat,” he said.

“No,” I said

and listed the reasons why it was no go. 

“Eat,” he said.

I sighed,

and explained the logic of self-denial.

But he persisted,

talking of wisdom and forbidden delight.

“Eat,” he said,

flicking my ear with his tongue,

whispering to me of my own desire.

Passions arose

as he licked the sweat from my neck.

“Eat,” he said,

and I intended merely to taste,

to soothe the fire that consumed my lips,

but the juice was cool,

and the flesh so sweet.

“Good,” he said

slithering away, leaving me to lick the pulp

from my hand.

“Eat,” I say.

His lips say no,

but I see his desire rising.

Soon. Soon.