Orchard's Dreg
by George Korolog

She plucks him from the tree,
peels him whole,
holds the bloodied residue
of hapless fig and lemon
in her hand.

She lingers, watching
him drain, seeping
vodka, obliterating skin,
consuming root and limb.

He bleeds bitter, the crushed
temperament of dying fruit
awash in a torrent of
rage, where reverie
ends and time lies fallow.

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