tarocco

How can I be still?
The scent of blood orange
in the kitchen, half-eaten,
warms me to the color of sunset

I have been restless,
restless and voracious, walking
barefoot through the garden,
my lips stained with the blood
of those blood-colored lips

It is July, the afternoon bruised
and distended with its own heat
Wisps of winter-white tendril from
the fruit I place in my mouth, and
I am convinced nothing could be
sweeter

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s