Slimy Clementines

A town of radiating colors that mimic my fruit 

My fruit, the real fruit? No, maybe my fruit and the fruit.  

as the color of my nipples is perhaps seen in the sky 

Before it turns dark and the bats begin to fly.

The scales on my belly beg lost 

But I feel a slimy clementine and hallucinate of skin 

For all I can think of is smokey breath and eyes so dark 

That they reflect the moon 

So there I am making eye contact with a place 

seldom touch by man and hardly by woman. 

If you dream of me will you tell me it’s worth it?