A breva is even softer than the fig-
its insides a million star-seeds that crowd the sky
or get stuck between your teeth. You can eat its skin,
which is a pale green, which to the touch
feels much like our own human skin
if it could be pulled away easily, without pain-
the soft sack of balls, the smooth wet of the vulva,
the chubby down of an earlobe. If we could turn each
other out and kiss the underside of skin
then maybe I wouldn't long for the brevas,
which grow only in certain short seasons
so warm flowers called damas-de-noche
blossom big as Chinese lanterns,
but only for one glorious night, their white
dresses lifted up above their heads. The brevas,
which most likely get their name from breve
(a Spanish word that means brief),
are often served for dessert in a bowl
made of green cactus leaf that rocks like a breve
(an English word that means the eyelash-mark
over each short-sounding vowel
in the dictionary) that is easy to find-
but not over the word moon, which instead
is marked by a long flat horizon, a ceiling over the twin os.
A kissing of the words blue and moan.