Poem 31

A love poem for the end of an era
I never meant to hurt you
when I plucked you from
the branch and peeled you
with my nails; an orange
would have tasted no sweeter
than the promises puckering 
our lips. I never meant 
to take this for myself
but upon my fingers you
were mine, and who could
blame the picker for sampling
fresh fanciful feast; don’t trust me
when i tell you i’m sorry, darling
now that you finally know
how un-sorry you are for 
sins terribly similar; we both rot
tree-side tonight

2 thoughts on “Poem 31

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