[breatheoften]

On what does a tangerine wait Each morning below the winters sun as it awakes?

Do twisted dreams linger, of what it might mean to be a taste on the memory of a forgotten alien tongue?

Is its sacred role seen -- illuminated amongst the greens and unique chaotic chrominance bouncing ancient wisdom between the neighboring leaves?

The tangerine -- victim, pawn, and, ultimately, master ; its search for self in an infinitely growing pile of mixed up words truly complete. There is much to learn.