She’ll Play Pretend

She stares at the tangelo,

half crescent orange moon

against napkin cloud.

She wants to pick this exposed fruit

from such a worldly comfort,

pluck apart the remaining slices.

He loves me, He loves me not.

He loves me. Even when last piece

lies to her heart, she’ll smile.

Silly fruit, don’t you wear

a halo?

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2 thoughts on “She’ll Play Pretend

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