Fresh from the fridge, the orange is cool in hand,
stays cool despite its warm colors. I’d planned
to eat it, but now, I wait, holding on
gently. Let it rest until it sweetens,
warms. Juice rises under the skin, softens,
and as it heats, the peel becomes supple,
loosens. Now, I help it open, ruffle;
remember once it was a flower at dawn,
each virginal petal held up, apart
from others, scent so sweet. Now, juice is tart,
yet, as I bend my face to peel ‘petals’
(eyes closed, inhaling), the scent is still sweet
but more vibrant, vivid, warmed with my hand’s heat,
than it was. This scent sticks, stays, and settles.
Modified Rosarian Sonnet form.