Ode to This Tomato I Cut

I pull my crisper open gingerly
And at last, a tomato I can empathize with
Worked into eleven slender slices.
A touching anatomy sparkles and beside myself
Like a big round and handsomely
Platonic sunshine moans.
And I want to remove my shirt and the rest,
Lie down with these joyful slobbery wet cuts,
Placing each over my body strategically
On parts that will bring
  the loftiest sensation home.
A real need I prod with my fingers.
Fingers ever call forward a considerably poised me.
A significant knife slapping between my fingers.
                                                That tickles.
Bright red need that I
Eye when it foams at the mouth, bursts outwards eyes,
Hurtful reins shucked and stuffy cleanly whimpers eyes.
A real pinch of salt sprinkled wetly on eyes,
On the soar mouths pressing against gushing palms
I'd like to say comprise me, forming hardly a totality.
A real object with mass and qualities,
A really thought vision with gravity , ergo
Winding down into an honestly tasting ode
  to fucking sweetly, exponentially rakish tomato
  and cowering naked before a spotless cadaver in city clothes.