May 5
She looks like honey in borrowed light,
soft little smile, sweater pulled tight.
Gold in her lashes, sweet in her stare,
like something gentle, almost too fair.
But sweetness like hers always comes with a seam,
a flicker of danger beneath the dream.
Crack her open, see what you’ve found:
a rambutan heart, all fire-wrapped, crowned.
Soft on the inside, crystal and pale,
but guarded in spikes that shimmer and scale.
Pretty things like her don’t beg to be held;
they bloom just as bright when they’re left unquelled.
She burns a little louder, a little more red,
a spark of “don’t touch” in the tilt of her head.
So taste if you dare but handle with care…
not everything sweet was made to be shared.
