eat the orange melancholy,
scoop it out with your fingers
smear it on your face
and become the sweet
flesh of that ugly fruit

find the one seed that looks like you
and bury it in the place where you hide
your heart. let it grow, slow and desperate
and sad.

the new fruit will come
for you, and you can gift it to some other
broken soul, like me and you.

after the tears, and the fullness
of the fresh grief, there will be love
i promise.