Hannah Witner
Oranges

Sing with me as I slightly chat my teeth together during each word that you say. While I think of an answer I only notice the small things like this, you know? Watch me as my hair falls out and forms distant drawings on a cold floor, which remind me of the place that I once spent only half my time, but now all my time. Send all your love out to sea to see the vastness I wish I could. I want to see you under the towering lights and each and every face with a story to tell and even the steaming holes in the street, because at least they have something happening in there. Tell me all the ways a bass note riles your jimmies and coats your eyes. Show me the way your feet move to avoid a door. I only hope that my true facets come out with age and with remedy and with mesmerizing dreams. My dear, if you’re all alone, bring over your sweaters, bring over your lies—bring your hands always over to me. Count the beams in the ceiling with me, as I can’t seem to see the sky anymore. Count the lights in the roof because I can’t see the sun. Whisper those vignettes to me in the pale green dew, rippling with heat and soft fingertips. Drink just by seeing, and be just by sitting. Make candles from those oranges you like to peel so gingerly, so the inside burns like no other wick I’ve seen, and suck the sweet nectar from leftovers and seeds. The soft plays that happen at night only prove your wandering soul. Sparks’ smoke move towards me and I can no longer even see. Glittering rose, take up the tides of sad breaths, and hear my gaze that examines the hairs standing up on your neck. I know it’s short, dear, but the shining gold specks between the yellow haze help make up for the sun we miss so dearly.