The idea of undressing
an orange and exposing
her segments and
seeing parting flesh
whets my appetite. My
imagination fires up
I am hot.
Bothered.
Anxious.
With naughty prospects
I plant my mouth
into her meat
when into my eye
her squirting juice
blinds my sight.
Silver-tongued
I bite into her rind.
Mouth full
my lips draw away.
She tastes
like a Velasquez.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem