the night boils
by and published in Edition Seven of Pomegranate
here,
the night tastes ripe with physalis.
they’re pulled down and
words are teased on the crinkle.
it is substance to turn
stars into juicy globes,
and to lip notebooks with tangy,
little moons like lantern fruit
and then to smuggle them back home by shadow-light
to your rooms
where you stare hard.
the moon is an orange, too!
pips like tiny hearts and
that string skeleton vest.
minutes older than dusk.
poets come here to die.
they stare at the flesh long enough
that the fruit goes bad
and sour.
so who’s left to say,
‘here,
the night tastes sweet’?
Esther Blue
Esther Blue is a student from Leicestershire. She regularly performs her poetry in the cities nearby and runs weekly creative writing workshops for younger students. One day, she’ll live by the sea.