What happened, happened once. So now it’s best
in memory — an orange he sliced: the skin
unbroken, then 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…
Beside the stove we ate an orange.
And there were purple flowers on the table.
And we still had hours.
— kim addonizio