the juice breaks. my tongue

splits the skin

sugar falls through my fingers

all afternoon they are sticky

i like their sweetness

i smell them

the smell of fermenting fruit

now, the sun sets and

i am fermenting


bursting with colour


the girls’ skin shines in the reflection of the water

it looks grey

under the shade

of scrawny swamp trees

their bellies and thighs marked with long lines

lying on squashed mangroves