Orange is Not a Juice
       

       Orange is not a juice
       to sip 
       by hearth and fire.
       No, this liquid fruit
       demands a greater burn -
       the surface of the sun, perhaps,
       a manifest
       of icey pulp beneath a summer noon.

       The moisture of your lips
       needs more than twilight bedding
       and a pillow.
       Witness 
       your maternal kiss
       on the sleeping cheek of child.

       Akin to this 
       my skin and hand       
       that move tonight 
       in this parched
       and empty room,
       a provincial touch
       informed by me alone
       and the perimeter of this bed:
       fat with memory       
       I recline 
       in such thin 
       imagination.
       

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