Citrus
a covetous, fleeting love affair with April
We're both naked, unabashed, peeling citrus fruits.
The windows are open. We eat greedily with bare, curved spines. Stiff knees.
His remaining paper towels are put to use: a sachet for the peels and a half-hearted cover for the wet sheets. We giggle and point. True intimacy is almost childlike.
He tells me he's begun to believe in an afterlife of opportunity. Transformation.
I put my finger to his lips - a desperate deflection. I grab his bearded chin in protest.
"Don't say that. Don't make me think there's more. This is it. Promise me this is it!"
About the Creator
Erin Latham Shea
Co-Founder and EIC of Housebound Magazine
Assistant Poetry Editor at Wishbone Words
Instagram: @somebookishrambles
Bluesky: @elshea.bsky.social
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