Orange

I still smile
when I think of a whimsical
picture done in crayon
I saw years ago,
depicting you as the sun
rising or setting, who know which,
over city buildings,
dyeing the sky
various shades of your color,

and as I hold you

in my hand I can't help

but imagine you that way,

cliched though it may be,

as a little sun.

Under your skin you are

soft and yielding,

your taste a little burst

of madness flowing over

my tongue, and as I think of

that silly old picture

some of your juice

comes out my nose

as I gurgle with laughter. - Jeff Barnes