Behind The Orange Trees are My Bones

By Raven Eliza Hodge

We cut the twilight’s heavy air with an eagerness that lovers bare
Poisonous Beatrice- The Garden’s Voyeur
Her breath caresses your neck and I can see your eyes turn black
Her scent lingers upon the juniper, as we rendezvous behind the orange trees
Oleander on your lips
Bruises on my hips