In Your Absence

Before I sleep
to the labyrinth
of tarnished blue
and wilting green
I crave
the taste of you
–– the slow nibble
of citrus fragments
penetrating my tongue,
sowing the seed
of your existence
into my taste buds,
until it blooms
into the orange blossom
of your hesitant smile . . .

but I only have a nectarine.