I pick one up and score
each pole circling — but not too deep
I draw crescent moons
cutting superficially, merely grazing the orange with my blade
Tough skin
From slight incisions
dimples turn fragrant
at a moment’s notice or when the time is right
Peel it, taste
moist orange orange
lips and tongue, saliva and sweet juicy flesh all one
my green scent for love
Unless
postponement takes a knife to desire
unless I’d rather not
because I pretend I’ve forgotten how
