Two solitary people
a man and a woman
Play back and forth
Tennis, for what seems like
Hours tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock—
there goes the sound of the ball:
Green? Yellow? I’m not sure which.

Looks like they’re packing up
Now the man sits alone
on the shaded bench until
Suddenly he disappears—
Dissipates into thin air
like the ball The courts are empty
Now I stand alone with my orange.

I peel off its firm
Skin, for what seems like
Hours shh, shh, shh—
there goes the sound of that ball again
In my head My fruit is naked
Now so I figure I can eat her
But—the sight makes me pause:

She’s not exactly plump and
Soft like a peach, or small and
Two-faced like cherries on a stem.
To me she’s round and multi-layered.
Nestled within her cracks are strings—
of Attachment Wisdom Rebellion ?
I don’t know—and I like the taste of that.

I have to dig my fingers
Deep enough to get
Pieces of her off.
It’s amusing and alluring, but slightly blush-making,
though she doesn’t seem to think so.
Instead she lets her sweet drip
Down my fingers to the tip, waiting…

Should I try it? Is anyone
Watching? Instinct gives me no choice:
My tongue pierces through
and just before I feel her
Satiate my mouth, beckon me to come,
She slips from my grasp,
Falls, and I fall with her.

Brinn W.