We tried a new melon at the supermarket
Nestled between crater-surfaced cantaloupes,
The milky full moon honeydews.
Greeny-blue skin, and fitting perfectly in your palm,
We sliced it into two scarlet hemispheres
Dotted with the soft white seeds
That you didn't have to spit out.
"This occasion calls for a melon-baller,"
You laughed, although wedges would have been more summery
And we pressed soft chunks to each other's mouths,
Chins dribbling with the pink runoff
Of our strangely named watermelon.
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