Orange

Orange, cold and solid and soft
The tender peel around it
His mouth opened, his throat cleared
I rolled the orange in my hand
The corset was choking, his jacket immaculate
And the sun made the air musty and stifling
He shifted his weight
The orange lay in my lap
The dust settled on the antiques
And the grandfather clock ticked away
The silence between us
He gripped his hat
And started to say
The orange fell from my lap
And rolled across the Persian rugs
I wilted in the high backed chair
As he gave a short bow and turned
The orange sat in a ray of sun
Across the floor from me.