A Mandarin is a Citrus Dream…


citrus skin of mandarin
is peeled in acerb abstracts
like a twilight melting into oblivion,
segregated portions
on platter of sustenance are
a array of crescent juice pockets,
of oranges plucked from
ripeness burdened on
boughs of abundant orchards
in frost peppered winters
draped in blurred mist-songs.

tides gobble sun at dusk
like savored oranges in winter silences,
flavored in wispy kisses
of showered snowflakes on landscapes,
when clouds indulge
in stormy pillow fights on skies,
and faint light from
the tiara clarities of cold nights
like espressos never sugared
in the sighs of constellations.

a child suckles sustenance
from a halved orb of tangy sweetness,
crystal chiseled contours
satiate thirst of summer parched hours
in tangerine ambrosia from oranges,
piled on carts in bazaars
as forgotten lessons of life,
they are like unread lines of verse
fragrant in citrus sighs
and with every piece eaten
I taste a slice of paradise,
breathed in a mother’s affections…