Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Orange Juice

An unattractive garbage bin
stands at attention before me.
I punch ineffective fingernails
into the tough rind of an orange.
I expose the pulpy meat:
juicy, sticky–sensual.
Sweet pungent orange soaks my skin,
my hips grow aware of their shape.
I bite, I nibble, I suck,
this bin itself is not my prop;
I abuse its shape, its height,
maneuver the air between us
while I lick the juice of my arousal
from my fingertips.

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