why they should have called love banana

because the curve of your muscle at the point in your arm where i bury my face is that shape. Because the peel is as thick as the layer of love that must be removed before you carefully place my heart in your mouth. because the strings of white flesh are similar to the ones that hold together the fibers of my soul. the soul that breathes for you. its the concealed insides that could be imagined as a boat for you and i to sail away on. it is the bruises that can be found along the body, soft brown and tender. we sometimes suffer similar pains. we sometimes feel just as silly. its the melting shape from the quarter machine, the fading yellow candy that disappears on your tongue. you weed out the red hearts, the blue berries, you seek out the banana. let it dissolve into sweet syrup and run down your throat, like the kiss i give to you. when honey drips from between met lips the smile is that shape. when a tearing sound is heard in the room and the skin of it breaks, two hands let go and the noise is the same. its the tattoo she had on her hip and the one she showed you with a devilish smile before you wondered what life was for. it is the letters that make it love, the way it rolls off the tongue and floats away in a twist of fat letters, bumping into the ear and twisting its way in like happiness. B for better now. a for at last. n for never leaving. a for actually feeling life. n for now. a for admitting love is in the smallest detail of the yellow skin of a ripe banana.