Black Mask, Red Tomato

A Red Tomato
Bursts On The vine
Inside oozes
Outward
Her seeds
keeping time

Sweet center
Remains
Salt Deepens the
Flavor
As Green vines remains
ever deepening her favor

Young
Weathered hand
Calloused
cracked, worn
Reaches out
Hesitating
Looking for
Fruit
unadorned

Perhaps his
Blue eyes
Should be
Draped
In black
His Thick hands
In white
His Gloves
His mask

When his tongue
First tastes
The salt
of the
red
that was plucked
far later
than when he was
led

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