Orange, you in your nippled, naveled flesh. I notice you roll just a quarter turn to the left never sitting still straight-faced and fresh. You said this conversation's over before I even sat down. So I stood, peeling away at your latent discontent. I know you. I know you, you Floridian with that slick, silent skin wrapped around your succulent flesh. Let me swallow your seeds, let me nibble your nectar. As I promise not to spit, a word of you out.