the po~et (exotic fruit)

His legs she could climb, search behind and underneath every inch of his frame to find what causes him to make the sounds she hears while she's asleep. To discover the origin of the taste that rest in her mouth when she least expect sending her eyes wandering to see if he is in close proximity. Just the thought of him causes it to surface. The mixture she isn't sure about; but she is sure its moisture is something new--like that of unfamiliar tropical fruit. The kind that won't pass through customs. The kind photographed and chronicled in books that line the shelves of libraries.