• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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(i am a) plasticine tangerine

these days i gravitate
towards sea foam that smells of freshly grated orange rind
and sweet jasmine

i’ve moulded my life into the shape of that smell
taken the form of a tangerine

the sunsets paint my loneliness like monet did
his lilies

and i bathe in slow motion
in this new-found, guilt-free sweetness

despite the where and the what, the fruit
and i remain

sometimes alone
sometimes with (one) (each) (the) (an)other