Bare Hands

Updated: Jan 23

When we first met

we bought oranges

at the market.


We grabbed a cheap cidre

to head to the ocean

front

for the waves

to crash

too high.


We let the wind chill

our fingers,

the orange stickiness

residue a catalyst

to the frost.


You pour us a drink

using cheap paper cups

you bought with polite French,

two euros.


Then we wait,

perhaps continuously.

Ritualistically

for the sunsets—

nightime.


You always carry oranges

in your bag,

so much so that I started buying them

for myself.


I brought them

to our picnic yesterday

along the river,

not ocean,

where we sprawled out

in the grass this time

and you revealed the same

cheap paper cups

from Cannes.


Again we poured

and drank,

finishing all the oranges,

finally the package of cups,

wine leaking through.


I would give sunsets, today,

to peel an orange with my bare hands.


~ special thanks to Keara for her love of oranges, Alex for her love of wine, and Isaiah for his love of fun ~

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