Fruits Without Rinds

At first, we were swathed in many layers.
Fabric folds and flirtatious fibs concealed.
We sipped liquors spiked with citrus,
And exotic flavorings that lay heavily
On our tongues, too sweet to be real.
Falsehood stokes passion, tricks minds.

Gradually, there was a falling away.
Layers we used for protection seemed
Less necessary, and finally, unwanted.
Ready to face each other, our sheaths
Peeled off, rolling down like birch bark.
Underneath: truth. Raw, clean, plain.

We began to accustom ourselves to reality,
To the awkward angles of familiar bodies,
Raucous snorts of spontaneous laughter,
Sameness of days and nights, of habits
Held far too long to conquer, and, once
Revealed, become accepted, unnoticed.

Still, why does the fruit need its rind?
It holds precious, sweet juices within,
Protects the seeds tucked deep inside,
Keeps the flesh moist and nourishing.
Once peeled away, it becomes fibrous,
Dry, drained of enticing sour, sweet.

Mindlessly, you stopped squeezing
The limes in my gins and tonics,
Your tongue curious for the new,
And I saw your rind grow back,
Peeling around you, encasing you,
And mine as well, for protection.