Tuesday, February 1, 2011

orange peel

t's a ribbon on the floor by your toes. It is coiled like a serpent. Its sharp scent with a soft floral finish fills the air as you drop its brothers and sisters at your feet. I watch them, wait for them to move, to transform, to dance. I am sleepy and close my eyes. I let visions of orange-gold snakes forming from the fruit peel writhe into life and sway to a music whose source I cannot see play on the black screens of my closed eyes. There is only your feet and the dancing snakes.

My eyes blink open and I'm smiling. You ask why and I wonder how I can explain the impossibilities of my mind. Your big toe wiggles in the grass as we sway in the swing, the anchor that keeps us from departing into the sky. I tell you I love you, you're satisfied with all the simplicity of the answer and it's complicated bonds, you slip a piece of orange into my mouth and I tease the hair on your left arm and wonder if I'll live long enough to count them all.

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