Exposed
You try not to bruise
the tangerine as you peel
back the pulp, mindful
how tearing into plumpy flesh
too quickly leaves you
wanting. You dangle a second
from its threaded vein
the single crescent you will lift
to your mouth just before light
breaks, the night spent
kissing below the arc of the moon
causing you to question
how cold fruit must become
once you pull away the rind.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
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11 comments:
Oh, my! What a great way to start the morning. And the last 2 lines gave me a chill.
Wonderful imagery, Maureen...
spritzee :-)
Feels chilly just reading.
I really like the simple, yet also very complex imagery in this poem. It pulls the sensation, the taste, the moon, and vulnerabilty of love so very delicately together. Like all great poems, it hits me in a tender spot, making me feel something I was not prepared for. One of your very best.
Ah, this brings to mind the imagery of the Spanish-language poets, the teeth biting into the tang from an ode to fruit by Neruda
delicious...enjoyed the eating of the orange and the thought provoking link to kissing last night....smiles.
Oh wow...really enjoyed this. Delicious but with a very sharp tang...
It was an exploration of the crescent shapes and textures - the shape of the segments of tangerine (the color itself blazing with passion) the threads that connect with their feel on my fingers, the shape of the moon, the shape of lips, the texture of love grown cold. All written more economically than this comment. Excellent work, as always.
Love this!
Just spent the last half hour catching up on your posts and came to this one. Had to stop and say, "wow". This makes me want a tangerine. Or a kiss. And we don't have any tangerines in the kitchen...
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