Short poem for a small fruit

Cities of pouches
Arterial roads
Winding snake-skin tendrils
ripped away with my teeth.

Your spines dangling, curving
out like famished bean stalks,
Your water running down
my thumb, cold pulsating
from your core.
streak of white, middle passages,
one final bite.

My blood sugar spikes,
The rush recedes, my
head ceases from spinning
off my body.