I'm freshly faced 

And smell like oranges.

I've eaten the honey 

From Puerta Pollensa,

Where bees stay drunk

On nectar of orange blossoms there.

I sat beneath a tree in Majorca 

All day and laughed as the ripe ones fell.

I didn't do anything else.

I didn't count them,

Pick them, or even bother 

To shoo the gnats away.

I did take one orange that fell too close to me

And I gazed upon it,

Slowly peeled it's fragrant rind away

And ate it, slurping every last drip 

And rubbed my sticky palms

Along my naked thighs and face.

Then I laughed some more
And rolled in the dirt and bits of leaves and stems

Until I was covered by the expensive frills of leaf litter

The orchard affords,

And wandered back into the town

Like a wild unkempt beast,

Singing, "It is gooooood! It is goood! It is verrrry goood!"

-jenn