of orange trees and crinkly grins,

Someday -
we'll sit on that tree, of
those glossy green leaves and oranges
that never get too ripe. We'll climb,
to that highest branch where the
peeling bark will leave
crinkly footprints on our
blue jeans: like that sky filled with
clouds that never seem too high. And we'll,
we'll pry the rims of those oranges
with our fingers that interlock
together - fingers that never fail
to fit too well - until they turn
yellow: just like the never-fading juice.
And we'll gift ourselves with
a silly laughter until our lips are full of
citrus bloom. And we'll stay there,
until the names we carve
go up in smoke.

inspiration: here.