Maybe there's god in tangerine peels

Your heart is a tangerine tree. 

scent trails of citrusy notes bouncing off my breakfast table. bruised pulp running down my lips, staining my white tee — you make my house smell penance dressed in ecstasy.

Your mind is a crime scene.

peeled tangerines into perfect halves, a midnight massacre — stabbed right through the belly. branches spreading from your bosoms drenched in blood conspiracy.

Your eyes are autumn brewery.

i don't know how to peel off your deciduous pericardium, so i tear holes in it. tangerine blood squirts into your cider eyes, like a swirling autumnal constellation in motion.

Your lips are shedding in tangerine piths.

i had a knife and a pair of fangs to dig in. but you fell apart at the gentlest violation on my fingertips. your flesh with a hint of piquant savagery — i think i pulled religion on the roof of my tongue, purging your skin in a bitter catharsis.