untitled 4

 

 

tangerine season is so short,
in the last days,
when tiny blossoms peak from the sickly trees,
and the crispness in the air is pleasant in the sun

i clutch at the thin plastic bag from the street vendor
heavy with sweetness
anticipating the satisfying push of my thumb into the rind
the firm, soft flesh bulging at the skin
laden with nectar
and my mouth engorged with its deliciousness.

 

 

 

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About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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