by Elymar Apao
In my weak moments
I crave for an orange.
My tongue imagines
touching the soft flesh,
tasting its sweet juice,
and savoring the zesty memory.
It is a subtle, quiet affair
That merely remains inside me.
Deliciously filling my reverie
And gives me soulful melody.
Unfortunately,
It's just a passing dream
So I return to being busy.
That is until...
You smiled.
And I again saw your lips.
