Deconstructing Orange
Oh you peel the rind
from me
in the gentlest manner
and it falls away
in fleshy strips
of bitter
citrine madness
where calloused there
in orange despair
it wrapped
a fancied ripeness
your agile hands
palming round
separate each wedge
I’d planned
with a tender tearing
sound
and in your mouth
I am the sun
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