He’s like a magician. Standing before me, just holding an orange. He spins round and the orange is unpeeled; the skin in one continuous curling strip bursting with citrus scent.

I’m in awe. I’m sure no one else noticed his deft fingers working. And he drops the pieces in a flat dish, barely a bowl.

Sun bright. Brimming with orange segments.

He proffers it, but before I can choose he takes a piece; slides it between my lips, eyes locked on mine.

Over the tang of the orange I taste him.
And I want to taste so much more.


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