I will tell my daughter of you…

And how you always grew like oranges in the soil of my memory

How I felt that sweet of your last goodbye and the warmth of your cherubic splendor as we sat frozen in a burning room peeling back our bitter rinds 

About the times we laughed and cried, and how those moments were the fruit that we placed in grieving baskets that held the remains of what we once called home 

Even in the way we remember…

The way we allowed our mouths to creak with yearnings of rusted hope

The taste of the bitter piths on our tongues 

The seeds we briefly held with our teeth that kept us hidden from the bright flavors of the fruit

Ripened from the same cloth that lingered on the lips of a distant yet painful moan only waiting for us to unveil the magic of that sensational taste

To know that there is nothing sweeter than the words that pass the lips of the one you love

That fluid delicacy of the words unweaving those grieving baskets until there is no more pain to hold onto…

And now that I look upon the ground of this broken avenue we have walked

The deepest fruits of my heart and the clay from my veins formed an orchard spoken years before, so unparalleled in beauty… 

But yet…

It still wasn’t enough to save you…