My Cardboard Balcony

Orange Stand by Belinda Roddie cold brown feet on a wagon heading to new kentucky I saw you selling oranges at a market stand you smelled sweet as you babbled rabble-rousing lousy syntax into both of my ears I spent two bucks on a dozen citrus orgasms that exploded on my tongue and filled my lungs with perfume.

The lights dimmed, the pancakes eaten, we settled down for an early morning movie. We had stayed up for hours, cuddling, too alert to sleep, too stubborn to dream. The dream was here, and now, with one o'clock breakfast and a horrid 1950s sci-fi film. I buried my head in her shoulder. I breathed happiness.