Universal FloweringBurst!

in all grins, in all flourishes of pastel yellow my fingertips, yuzu-stained paper-thin cheerey citrus (their physical comedy, rind slick with wax) in the drying shed you can hold them up as if it is the most important thing you’ve ever done each hue bright-sour, soft as chalk my back against the soft orange wood, listening to the symphony of the shapes (skin prickling tiny violins) we all wanted that glimmering light, their ancient formulas i’d rather you find the coldest glass of milk while the fruits rest under their own weight