As they peel the light from our eyes, an orange
Billow of smoke drifts between that hidden place.
And below the selves I'd built to stay
I saw our lives connected in a dream;
My kitchen's smells in the air rode homes above becoming
An aroma of wishes ignited by hopeful
Fantasies of taste.
My senses grew strong; and I watched you expand into
A fruit, a plum, a peach without a pit,
Something I would have to face
Or eat or be eaten or throw away.
Releasing all inhibitions, I embraced my plight
And found nothing, just the air
When I cannot bear to turn on the light.