oranges
this summer, I picked oranges.
off the chalky vines,
growing through her legs.
the underbelly of the beach,
could only hold one person beneath
its everlonging lips.
the sunshine birthed a happiness,
of cold melon, and sandy toes.
the waves felt only warm,
on that lonely summer’s day.
our breath crumbled into autumn leaves,
crisp fingers locked into side steps.
a crescent snack to share,
in between chittering train tracks.
teeth pressed against the caramel glass
sways an old waltz,
to a jukebox of our future.
in winter’s warm bosom
she looks so stunning,
splayed across the moonlight.
an iridescent widow of the Holy dragon,
i confess matrimony to the webbing of her feet.
she kisses hot iron heat down my throat.
i swallow a whale of shameful property.
i am left barren, bound to grow the poisoned fruit,
that tickles trickery and sweet honey
through its supple skin.