A small sun in my hand

Small indented dots covering it

With a green clover at the time

The frictionless surface that pairs with its squishy body

As if its life was in my hands

One word would dictate everything

As I carefully undress the little sun

I hear the sound of someone stepping on snow

As you continue,

POP!

The astringent smell

Fills the air

It assaults your senses

With its pungent odor

Leaving you in wonder

When I take my last step

Crushing the flesh with my pearly whites

I am greeted with an unknown taste

The taste greets me.

The sweet yet somehow sour taste

Of the seemingly innocent sun

Encourages me to taste more.

As I go for another bite,

The juices rushes into my mouth

As I press down the weak flesh.

Feeling one again as if I am in control

Of everything.