"Sweet, sweet
mercy."
The words roll
off her tongue
with the dew-
drops falling
from the tangerine
leaves.
Blades of Northern
Air slide their
dull ends
across her arms
and leave a shine,
the reflection
of coins and dirt.
Bitter copper
in her cheeks,
nickle rubbings
on her feet.
The sun rises
and she stuffs
her pockets
with fruit.
No comments:
Post a Comment