.
.
.
you’re a sweet orange
playing the blues
with no rhyme
sticky words
speaking
understanding
of my wicked heart
that will not
listen to you
when it hears
the whisper of words
that sing in golden hue
.
.
.
who do you love
.
.
.
you’re a sweet orange
playing the blues
with no rhyme
sticky words
speaking
understanding
of my wicked heart
that will not
listen to you
when it hears
the whisper of words
that sing in golden hue
.
.
.
unpeeled…
and sunk into
with teeth and
tongue
I like poems that don’t rhyme so much better—they’re like life to me: uneven and unexpected with surprisingly satisfying results.
me too, i totally like no rhyming the best.
to release sweet notes
that will fill the evening air
just waiting to be
unpeeled
Love those first three lines. And the orange and blue.
thanks
when the sun landed on the beach
anticipating the ocean
the crowds ran for cover
losing their lotion
in all the commotion
Oranges make
good juice and
sweet ones are
the best,
if fickle.
find a jukebox
and let ‘er spin
it only cost a nickel