Blood Orange

Juicy orbs plucked from weak limbs, bending to greedy hands to the point of snapping

The crackling of spidery fascia being torn from firm shell

Screams misting the air with nose-crinkling sourness

Your shame perfumes the stratosphere as your essence is devoured

Tart juice bleeds out, seeping from open wounds

Your puckered skin, sweating with sweet oils

Your planetary glory, divided into slices and conquered by the sucking of scurvy mouths

Until all that remains, a rind