Orange Crush

By Lisa Wiley

Orange is your color, you whisper and I dream of you on a snow day harvesting navel oranges & clementines, peeling them for me, pulling apart the sections in my grandparents’ living room nestled into a blood orange upholstered chair, our legs intertwined on the tangerine ottoman creating our own pillow fort while our tossed-off boots forge streams; Elvis vinyls crooning on the hi-fi as you throw an orange chiffon sheet over us, so we can kiss underneath—our hair full of static as I taste your tangerine tongue and don’t ever want to surface, come up for soda pop air.