An Orange Solstice

Slow motion
Twirl
Of a wanna be
Grapefruit grace,
She
threatens to drip,
Tip
Out of orbit.

The wax of her
Shine,
The glares of
Bruises I caused,
She
Remains taunt –dense
Patient,
And evermore delicate.

Behind the dark
Side
Of this orange moon
I break surface tension
She
Exhales in bursts of
Citrus
Acid into to air,

Clogging the space
Beyond
My cheekbones and
Under my tongue.
She
Bites. I taste
Lunar
Eclipses in s l o w m o t i o n.