St. Valentine

the enso

A branch of a dwarf orange tree with icicles

"Oranges" by marlowe

the poem

we slide hand
in hand mine
tight with terror
as we glide
ice our guide
across sidewalks
between broken
grass too frozen
to care about
our boots and we
think it’s Feb after
all the icicles
tumbled like glasses
melting in error
glazing oranges
into orbs of divine
bitterness we
collapse in love
because most of
this cannot be
so intricate
like talks
so planned

Date: Monday, 14. February 2011 20:45
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