Watermelon
O Watermelon, my greatest love, how I adore thee! From your firm rounded head to your firm rounded bottom, I cherish every inch of your firm rounded beauty. I love you like a starved ape loves unguarded fruit, or like a segment of lime loves a cool glass of beer on a hot summer's night. You are everything to me, you sleek globe of emerald wonder. Nay; more than everything, for the cosmos in all its glory is nought compared to your polished green rind and warm crimson flesh. Every other piece of fruit in this world and the next shrivels and dries to raisinhood before your splendour. Come hither, and kiss me tenderly on the mouth!
The Beauty of Watermelon
Watermelon, your elegance is a visage beyond all else. One can scarcely imagine a more exquisite arrangement of plant matter, nor such a perfectly rendered motif of dark green patterns, even in the most lucid of chemically-enhanced dreams. I often picture a shoal of nubile Mermaids with thick, luscious hair and small, sunkissed breasts beckoning me to the shore with the subtlest gestures of their hips — you, watermelon, are vastly more alluring than that. You are prettier than any young maiden I will ever hope to see peering from the other side of a fishtank. Your touch is as sensual as a feather boa coiling itself tantalisingly around my thighs and hips.
On a literal level, you are much like a berry swelled to enormous size, and my heart swells equally when I see you. When I lay my coarse, clammy mitts upon your fineness, I taste perfection with my very palms, and the sensation never fades. Watermelon, you make me cry out with agonising pleasure! You lift me to the brink of ecstasy only to drag me back down into the fervid depths of your sweet embrace. And you're all mine! O watermelon, I have been bless'd!
Roundness
Ah, but I have not touched upon the roundness, that breathtaking roundness. No sonnet for my love would be replete without some mention of my paramour's faultlessly sculpted figure. The architect whom configured her likeness must have been struck by some divine muse. Perhaps you yourself were the inspiration, watermelon? Your delight transcends space and time, so why not? Heaven knows you inspire me. Each morning when I wake from our communal mattress and lay my eyes upon that fullsome body, I sing out like a songbird in love with princess. I lose control of my limbs and appendages, and leap upon you — you are the red-hooded schoolgirl to my carnivorous wolf, and all because of that delicate shape!
The spheroid beauty of my love is maddenning. I could follow those curves forever with my eyes and fingertips and end up in the same place I started — in the meantime my chin covers itself in unkempt hair and dangling strands of saliva, but you, watermelon, are the same, as youthful and effervescent as when I began. You are a perfectly formed breast, rising and falling as the buxom green angel you're conjoined to sighs and tells me she'd do Anything for me. You are the voluptuous Marilyn Monroe in melon form; as mesmerising to the eye and crotch as a shape can be. They didn't just break the mould when they made you, they broke every mould in existence and then burned down the mould factory.
Gentleness of Spirit
Before you take me for some superficial harpy, my love, I'll have you know that your prettiest attribute is your personality. You are so understanding and accommodating, yet have no fear of chiding me when I require it. Whenever I am down, you always know what to say. When the mean post-room guys at work call me "fruitfucker" you always know what to do to cheer me up. You are so generous with your love yet, in seducing you, I still feel the thrill of the chase, especially when I accidentally let you roll down a steep incline.
And you are so wonderfully witty! Nothing brings me out in schoolgirl hysterics like your one-liners. I still tell the one about the apple, the orange and the banana to my friends and it always leaves me giggling like a hyena on nitrous oxide. Jokes like that really make you think.
Forbidden Fruit
But of course my darling, they will not let our love be, will they? How feebly they try to bisect our entwined bodies from their loving siamese embrace. How bluntly they try to chastise me with their inane cries of "Oh your poor mother!" and "What will the neighbours say!" As if the love between a man and a fruit simply cannot be!
Why does nobody understand that we have a special bond that eclipses such paltry matters as race, species, genus and kingdom. When we first met I was less enlightened, of course, I remember saying to myself, "I'm Animalia, she's Plantae, it'd never work," but somehow, we made it work.
Why can they not see this? Why does our love provoke such pure and unadulterated hatred? Why do they interrogate me with such suspicion regarding the airholes I've drilled in you? But even if our two worlds collided in a bloody and senseless war over us, they would never keep us apart. So long as international waters exist I will make you my wife. My love for you is as relentless as a tide out for revenge, and as perpetual as an evergreen tree with a vampire's curse. If you leave me watermelon I shall die, for it is only when I am with you that I truly live — all else I am but a shade. Now come, let us to bed. I will hold you fondly until the world ends around us, and I shall not even acknowledge it, because my world ends with you...
See also
Recreational Fruits | ||||||
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