Orange, The Unrhymable Word

Orange, the Unrhymable Word

The color, the fruit
…the color of the fruit
The word, orange

It used to be called yellowred
One word not two
Things change

Her favorite color was orange
Can you guess her favorite fruit?

She mastered the fine art
Of peeling the skin
In one whole piece

Slowly she would push
Her slender fingers into
The center and divide
Sharing with me the slices

We would watch the sun set
Yellowred on the horizon
She would peel off the
Hard, uncompromising
Cynical armor
Of my outer self
Leaving me raw but whole

She carefully removes
The remaining pith

Slowly, she would push
Herself into my center
And force me to divulge
The secrets of my inner self

Wet and sticky
We share the slices
Bitter and sweet
We plant the seeds
She…squeezes
We entwine

Orange, the unrhymable word…

The subject of this post, “orange”, was suggested to me by Ivy. See this post for more details.

More Poetry by Silencio Barnes