MB Thorne

How to Eat an Orange

First peel back the delicate skin,

revealing the sweetness held within.

A test, a titillating tap with the tip of the tongue,

confirms the fruit is not too young 

or too cold; take a moment to behold

how it glistens, then lean forward, bite, and listen

to the succulent sound of delight embodied in the flesh,

Feel how beneath firm pith the meat is soft and fresh,

breathe in the scent, tang and sweet, and as you venture further in

feel warm citrus juices bathe your mouth,

like sunlight spreading from the South.


Surrounded by so many characters

and yet feeling so keenly alone,

I think of you amidst the quiet:

the hushed rustling of turning pages

recalls your suppressed moans,

and my response, the fervent 

payment of desire’s wages.

My love, if regret is a subscription 

it is one I’ve renewed a thousand times;

if it is an illness there’s no prescription

I haven’t tried. Over the years

it’s true, at times I browsed the aisles

and sought the pleasure of another,

but always it was you I searched for 

somewhere underneath the cover.

Here you feel so close to me,

it’s as if your body is a book:

I slowly slip off your jacket,

run my fingers down your naked spine,

caress your soft and supple pages;

set you upon the table spread open wide

and read you voraciously,

devouring with my eyes—

but I cannot take you with me; 

you are reserved for someone else.

I can only look with longing 

as you rest upon the shelf.


MB Thorne has poems appearing or forthcoming in Topical Poetry, The New Verse News, Sky Island Journal, Drunk Monkeys, Rising Phoenix Review, and The Main Street Rag. He lives and sometimes sleeps in North Carolina.

Spread the lust

The Erozine