This description immediately calls to mind a rich and unctuous guacamole.
Well it does in the context of the poem by Michele Leggott (“Deluge in a Paper Cup”) in Swimmers, Dancers
irresistible its knifepoint forever breaking the skin
the kind of thing you might find yourself propagating suddenly
in Agee jars full of water on the windowsill
wondering how to recover that stupendous impasto
or the sliced up clarities of inhabiting only the moment
I remember sprouting avocado seeds steadied by toothpicks over a water-filled mason jar. But I never did nurse a plant all the way to fruition. I rely on the greengrocer for my supply, for the moment.
And so for day 2444