by Gideon Burton
The orange peel exudes a pungent oil
that stings its way into my open pores.
To shred its plastic skin may take some toil:
I twist, I claw, I probe its juicy core.
A citric mist explodes into my eyes,
an acid answer to my violations.
It's worth the tangy perfume I will wear;
I suck each nectar node with fresh elation.
My hands are strung with tissue, yellow-white,
that lined the interstices of this sphere;beneath my nails, fresh evidence my fight
was won to quench my thirst in juices clear.
So delicate, this pod of sugared juice
I’ll tongue your secrets till they all come loose.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - J Devaun
This is giving me a serious craving, and I forgot to buy oranges yesterday.
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