Orange

A word for which there is no rhyme.
And why would there be? I give you, instead,
A thousand words, yet none approximate
The elusive sublime that is the
Crunch of salt on the plate, the crisp
Of the browned edge, the translucent gloss
On the yolk, the promise of fullness on
The sun-soaked slice. Indeed, the
Transience of the cherry blossoms on the
Spring-time blue say more about freshness than
Any words could do, and yet, line for line,
There is no verse equal to the limpid shine
That will leave its fragrance on your fingers
Long after its gone. No, the sublimity of
The unrhymable is felt in what lingers long
After all rhyming is done.

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s