She’s in the corner with the brass and bronze,
like a passing thought that takes refuge in
wrinkled silks of sweet grape gold and
liquid purple. Arranged, liked an orange
whose peel scantly exposes juice and fruit
— so provocative — and arresting.
There for the taking. Her fruit. Her sweet wine.
An exchanged glance. A touch. To be tasted.
for Poets and Story Tellers United
©️ Misky 2020
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