Polished peel rounds a burnished burst
Of hybridized cloying Clementine
An oblong spheroid in curving orbit
Between and beneath the creviced terrain
(Still foreign to the heels of time)
Of an adolescent’s palm.
Spheroid spins through fantasy days
and years in the warmth of the human grip
and boy wonders if he should let fly
the imported bit of tropic flame
away from his graying pubescent face.
(Clementine cries that she promises sweet,
Though she gleams artificiality.)
The axis spins in blurred rapidity--
It is only the surface he scratches, scars--
It is only the surface where fragrance lies.
Clementine fades to dusky ochre.
The adolescent’s fingers play (fidget)--
His palm crushes the reminiscence
(His eyes sting blades of Clementine tears)
In the bitter shards of wrinkled peel.
