Petty theft of pretty poetry so taut like my buttocks when I was twenty and did not appreciate the ripeness of my flesh. Or this – about an orange peel – the white is bitter the spits of oil not iridescent as oil might be lazed in a parking lot puddle. Try for size the heavy fur of winter cottages, blah except for holiday wreaths and the silent exhalation of smokes snaking from their top. Translate this grapefruit that is both sour and sweet and fulminates loss.