i split the skin with reverence
thumbs sinking in soft flesh
like i’ve done this before
in dreams i never woke from.

juice runs, sticky like confession,
a sweetness too sharp to trust.
you said it was ripe,
said take it,
said it was meant to be peeled open.

the segments smile in crescents,
each bite a kiss,
each kiss a bruise a bruise.

i eat slowly,
tongue searching pulp for meaning,
for mercy,
for the moment before it turned

and the rind curls back like a laugh.
was this hunger?
was this harm?
was i ever meant to enjoy it?

my hands smell of sun and ruin.
i finish the fruit
and feel less whole.

the sun in the sky
shines like a ripe orange peel
i want to taste you