My knife pierces the flesh, and I trace the circumference of the bulbous fruit. I feel the swollen pods in my grip and picture the bounty within: infinite ruby teardrops pregnant with tart juices.
I crack it open and loose seeds glitter into the bowl. A tingle ripples through me as I glimpse the promising insides. Tenderly, so as not to squash the remaining pieces, I pry them free of their ivory prison and lick my parched lips.
Soon I will hold a handful of these pods in my mouth and explode the supple seeds between my teeth.