I’m afraid to  write about  your  voicemails  from  Colorado and  how they

kiss me,   indie recs and blueberry  smoothie recipes,  when they kiss me I

smile   accidentally,   and  there’s   the   scent of   peeled  oranges,   peeled

oranges  in my mouth,   when they kiss me,  I am washed clean and folded

like  linens,   I’m that  freshly-warm clean,  my  porch  door  swings open,

wind and gnats wander in,   out,   in again,   I get goosebumps all over my

thighs and shins, when they kiss me, it’s 70 and sunny,  I’m done with not

living,   so what if the gnats come in and stay awhile in the kitchen,  I like

when the door is open, you tell me leave it open then, life is short, what I

mean  is  we  talk  every  day  and  it’s  always  juicy,   and  sweet,   and you

haven’t even seen me naked, every boy I ever loved liked me better when

I was naked,   some  of  them  peeled  back my skin,   looked for someone

different but I was the same orange,   you don’t even want anything from

me, just  want  to read my poems and I let you,   I’m afraid to write this, I

have all these  poems stacking up  about  people  I’ve loved  that are gone

now,   when my family asks what I write,   I tell them I write poems about

endings, I’m obsessed with endings in the way that I hate them so much I

want to peel back their skin and then eat them,  so they don’t leave me,  I

heard a new song today called Orange Juice,  I’ll send it to you, it’s about

a man who’s  wanted  his love to  come home  for so  long and  she  finally

does,   he doesn’t even ask where she’d gone,   he has orange juice for her

in the refrigerator