Hunt: Mandarins by the Pier

Grass crystal carpet,

Dewy cold beneath my scrunching toes

Wandering in visceral,

Warmth that clings to skin

Distant murmurs

Of lighthouse kin

That sail

Across a sequined sea

Peeling mandarins,

From wicker basket womb

Velcro rinds, hissing release

On sunburned fingertips

Freckles of stinging oil,

That blot my hand

As I rip away,

The sunset-hued carapace

Juice drools down

My chin, my knuckles,

Sugary pools

On the silken turf

I am puckering primal,

Gasping 

– Nectar

Drizzling

Skeletal basket,

Filled with mummifying scabs

Of my feast

I bury the orange in green

Shifting now,

My toes reach concrete

Steel basin,

Wash the crusted sugar marrow

Reborn in plastic fog,

Frozen

– Clock

Ticking

Till I chase my mandarins,

Once again,

Till I am no longer captured,

But free