you tilt your head in anticipation.
your best self concealed
behind the kind of eyes
modigliani would be proud.
the blackness only serving
to enhance their potency
and provide a dwelling
you take a bite from the orange
as though it were an apple.
skin cracks. teeth pierce flesh.
your mouth ready. for sweetness.
yet you believe yourself broken.
hard to love. the eggshells though,
they hold your weight. and your feet,
they carry the world.
a world where i think i want
nothing more than to crush the stars
in fists that open like flowers
into crumbs to sustain us.
the dark tends to bring a clarity
no light can produce.