Juice
Sirens call my tongue
to taste the bittersweet
poison orange. Heart
racing, I lay in
the casket dressed
white for angels.
Demons take scars
away. Citrus journeys
down cracked spine.
Bloodshed over
my third eye.
Minutes compress
holes, gapes
the light cannot
reach. Each sip
I am forced to
take is a battle;
full on genocide. War
ships come to shores
of ashes, golden
like the hidden sun.
Image: @FED
I taught your mom skiing at sugarbush Vt one Christmas week when you were very young. We had a ball. You progressed rapidly, I hope you remember.