Yesterday I brought you the story of a lover who had shared a bathtub in Belfast.
Today another couple share intimate time together, eating an orange.
STOLEN MOMENTS
What happened, happened once. So now it's best
in memory - an orange he sliced: the skin
unbroken, the knife, the chilled wedge
lifted to my mouth, his mouth, the thin
membrane between us, the exquisite orange,
tongue, orange, my nakedness and his,
the way he pushed me up against the fridge -
Now I get to feel his hands again, the kiss
that didn't last, but sent some neural twin
flashing wildly through the cortex. Love's
merciless, the way it travels in
and keeps emitting light. Beside the stove
we ate an orange. And there were purple flowers
on the table. And we still had hours.
Kim Addonizio
Kim Addonizio was born in Washington, D.C., in 1954. She has written three books of poetry and her latest collection, 'What Is This Thing Called Love', was published in 2004.
She currently teaches private poetry workshops in Oakland, California.
