Bananas aren’t yellow, just sunlight wrapped.
Cherries aren’t red, just ripened whispers.
Apples wear their skins like tight intentions.
Plums stain hands with bruises, not purple.
Why do we hold strawberries like velvet?
Or dress our dresses in blueberry dreams?
A woman tells me she feels like peach,
soft, tender, torn, sweet around her edges.
Grapefruits aren’t pink, but the sky here.
Lemons don’t speak yellow, but lightning.
These shades belong to songs and sunsets,
not the drape of skirts, silk apricots.
Maybe names taste better, feel brighter—
a nectarine blouse, a cranberry cardigan.
Because wearing fruit sounds less brittle,
turns bodies into orchards, ripe with bloom.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 1st, 2026 04:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Clearly well thought out Gray although I noticed oranges were left out here, what else would we call them. Many colors are designated as fruits due to the clear association with that vivid shade shared by no other in nature. I wonder about flowers also rose, lilac, orchid. We reach into our experience and use nature as our pallet to paint the world. A lovely poem and a fave
Thanks for sharing your feedback Brother
Most welcome
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