Life's Lemons

As a matter of fact, I love lemons.

The thick dimpled rind
wraps around the inside,
like a spitty secret.

I love how the wagon wheel
spokes split. The ends toe grip
a hug down the icy slide
of a sweating glass.

Yellow bursts whistle,
tingle past pouty lips.
Cheeks tucker and tongues sip
a juicy welcome.

Warm hands carry lemons ghosts.
Whiffs of them rises like smoke
from deep inside scented folds.
I breathe it in.

As a matter of fact,
I love lemons.

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