There's no craving for fruit until its rotten.
No hunger until the food is spoiled.
When the days are long and peaceful,
I find satisfaction in watching the skies roll above.
Oranges ripe in jasper grow by hundreds in the orchard.
Flirtatious specks of citrus fan into the air as you saw skin,
It bursts as you bite, dripping and running,
Stinging nectar like sweet acid burns my tongue.
I can never have more than one without singeing my stomach raw.
Love in the heat of spring seems to stick to my skin like sweat in clasped palms.
Like the tacky film of fruit juice dry on your lips.
I leave the oranges to fall apart.
Sweet nothings that drift like cherry blossoms on the summer breeze
Fall like snow in the winter
by June you are gone
And my fingertips are left to freeze.