Late Summer

I split the fig in two
marveled at the milky sap
  dripping, smearing
  this fertile womb
  these tiny flowers, reddened pilgrims
  swimming
  to the motherland.

I slid my fingers into the
  slit
  softly tender, it tugged
  against my skin.

I stuffed it behind my
  lips
  its flesh
  spread open, yielding
  under my teeth.

I thought of how this was once
  hard, green until
  a wasp
  came inside
  inseminated it
  a late summer sweetness.