My bag of rotting fruit

My bag of rotting fruit
Was a gift
Now it is a paper balloon
That floats waist high

The bag is not spotted
From leaching bruises
Though there are bruises on the fruit
That may weep

The bag is brown with blue lettering
On mornings when being inside
Can’t compete with being outside
Brown and blue are features

I never knew the bag or the fruit
Before the rotting began
On the first morning its sweet smell
Startled me

Over a period of seven days
My bag of rotting fruit was
Dropped once/Moved twice,
Eaten from three times

Truth is, my bag of rotting fruit
Is still alive
And I prove this each morning
By remarking upon its availability