Bad Poetry

Oranges

I’m eating oranges again

You can smell it on the tips of my fingers

An overpowering fragrance that remains on my skin for the rest of the day

The skin of the orange deeply embedded in my nails

Like the dirt and rips seen in pants after a hard day’s work

It’s dripping from my lips, onto my chin only to fall onto the soft fabric of my white blouse

An inevitable conclusion to the drunken, clumsy, carelessness that youth has cursed me with

My breath is tangy, my tongue thick with its citrus nectar

So don’t you dare,

Suck my fingers

Bite my nails

Unbutton my blouse

So don’t kiss me!

Because I’m eating oranges again

I will hide my ugly evidence that takes the physical form of its peels

Beneath carefully deposited

Crumpled up

Tissues

Shoved deep down in the abyss of a bin

And oh God, please don’t look!

Please don’t find out

Please don’t see,

that I’m eating oranges again