The Apricot

you cut an apricot 

the size of my fist

removing the seed as 

first snow falls outside

a clementine midnight 

moon rush against light 

that slants breathing 

through bare trees 

it casts an overcoat over 

your olive skin - soft fern 

you break so close to me.

the house is still.

i remember i wanting 

to turn your face towards the sun

marking the soft thrum 

of a body that knows 

what it wants 

a critical glow that obdurates 

any proclamation of 

a moral high ground as we hold ourselves 

so far from the beginning 

buried in the roots of our dark oak tree.