A Road of Poetry

Citrus Sun

There in the silence of days gone by,

While from the sky the late sun dies,

In the cup of my palms orange orbs lie

And through the blinds, sepia light shines.

When held up in the fading sun rays

It burns like the heat of days ablazed.

And yet if you want to peel the flames off

You'll find that inside is velvet soft.

White stringy veins run across it's skin

As though to hold all the taste within.

Yet when tasted there is no trace

Of the sunset curves in sweet embrace.

Then take a piece to set on your tongue;

Pierce through its skin for the juice to run.

Anticipate tartness but there is none,

Just the euphoria of the Citrus Sun.

Written here is a memory of mine --

The first bite of a clementine.