Peeling of the Fruit

Restricted in the edge, among

Those thousands stories, a

Maiden’s story waited to be twisted.

“Here or there? Oh! That”, yet a

Nakedness rested in to be drifted.

She shrugged at the thought,

Smiled to another layer.

Sensing soon a hand and

A voice near her ear.

“LOOK. The birds flying from

One tree to another branch.

To the corner, to that house.

You have wings too,

Lift your feet, for that rouse.”

He moved a bit ahead her,

In his prints she stepped.

Air, the breeze, the trees grew warmly

Shedding behind thick sheets

Of her loved fruit calmly.