Ode to a Piece of Fruit

Here is a poem I wrote a few years ago:

Ode to a Piece of Fruit

I love you,
Speckled banana.
You are whole
Unto yourself.
Neither the siamangs of Sumatra
Nor the nectar bats of Brazil
Have ever truly unpeeled the skin
Of your mysteries.

Picked too soon,
You are bitter and green
Plucked too late,
You turn to mush.
But heated by the flame of the flambé stick
And the embrace of whiskey,
You reveal a truth we should have always known:
Your longing for custard cream is only surpassed
by your passion for chocolate.

O golden-brown banana,
No one can say that I desired only
plump ripe plums,
Small, mysterious kumquats,
Or impudent lychee nuts.
No,
You are first, last and always in-between
Each course I serve upon the table
Of my earthly home.