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Nickols Oct 2023
You smell like pure warmth, sweet and heady, like a muggy summer night just after a heavy rainfall; earthy. A wet cedar, woody scent with an undertone of citrus. You smell of home, a sheltered blanket of safety.
moonrays Mar 2023
I have been peeled
the ripest of my juices trickle
between cracks within the fold.
held up by the hands of affronted lust
and weighed beneath twin peaks
not crafted by I
but molded for the other;
a single mirage
reflects itself onto many surfaces,
in which they have been ****** upon
annh Dec 2021
A swamp cypress
******* at an orange while the rain falls


Tacky fingered and smelling of citrus
T-shirt front stained
Warm with juice,
I taste

‘When oranges came in, a curious proceeding was gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the fruit, for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew where, ******* [only I think she used some more recondite word] was in fact the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently gone through by little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each of an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms to indulge in ******* oranges.’
- Elizabeth Gaskell, Cranford
Goddess Rue Nov 2021
Don’t let the strong citrus scent,
Leaves you stepping back,
Come forth instead,
And welcome to the Tangerine Wonderland,
Where the orange colour stretches,
To far back,
Complimented by its fellow citrus friends,
For yellow, orange, and green,
Are the feelings,
My heart screams,
When I’m with you.
So, step up,
And grow with me,
To this warm tune,
Orange perfume,
Blissed garden,
Only when I'm with you.
Black Petal Apr 2021
Sweet fragrant citrus
Awaken my tired senses
The essence of home
Bell Apr 2021
Our saving grace
now leaves me with a perplexing taste of hiraeth in my mouth
In our moment of need, we clung to it
although simple
and dashingly ordinary
we wouldn't be here without it
but now that it inches toward its inevitable end
I am filled with bitter nostalgia
one of empty promises
for even when our season was ending
I cared for you nonetheless
I clung to your ruminating sweet taste
for even when your newfound thorns engulfed me
I held on
watering jug in hand
and laid my eyes on your grand opulent tree
just as fondly as before

Now we are back in season
but my hands have grown rough and weary from the thorns of yesterday
your once dulcet taste
repulses me
for the taste of my blood is surprisingly pungent.
Our season is nearing once again
(Read last two poems for more context)
Bell Apr 2021
I'm am utterly abashed
I so badly want to be filled with fury
but I cannot
as you always
and forever
will be my sweet evanescent orange
not yellow
even though some may think
because yellow is simple
easy some might even say
orange is rough and allusive
it is filled with a desire so pure
hidden between many layers of said skin
but also soft
and dulcet
not pliable in any way shape or form

Orange queries
she asks
because I fell in love with you
and then I fell in love with life
before it was dull
to mask the bitter
but citrus is not bitter,
even out of season
it is bittersweet.

So I pray you won't break your promise a second time
because this time
I cannot follow you
because now I find myself relishing the bittersweet of life that rests on my tongue.

With, or without your grace.
Ashlyn Yoshida Mar 2021
They're voices hit me
like hardened citrus
Thrown at my curled body on the floor

their laughter is hurting me
their smiles are my scars

Band-aids and mocking
inside I'm breaking
everyone else loves me the way I am
so why can't they?
when school is bad you go home when home is bad where do you go?
Breanna Apr 2020
Gentle rain storms heighten
the scent of lilac bushes lining the fence
anticipating perennials
lively from the dampness and the sun
when days stay dry
carrying a bucket of water in one hand
walking barefoot to hydrate them
sunshine fruits
are being morphed into juice
behind the silk curtains
I see the wrinkled hands
firmly holding fruit peels
covered in shiny liquid
rays focus on her hands just right
this view
in citrine shades.
Lexie Rose Apr 2020
Bawling like clementine’s dripping citrus,
Pulp dribbling out our mouths; our first attempt to peel words
From our tongues an ache, perhaps trying to articulate a longing
For the Sunshine Hands that plucked us from that great tree
And peered at us with Celestial eyes.
“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” - C.S. Lewis

This poem was inspired by this quote by C.S. Lewis. It has always resonated with me a lot. Whenever I read a beautiful poem, or scripture or see a beautiful painting or have a meaningful conversation, I have these moments of longing. I think it’s because beautiful things help me to feel closer to God, and I start to get an inkling of what I’ve been missing my whole life.
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