Sacrilege [Citrus]

Sacrilege. 

The pink fleshy fruit is sweet enough

On its own

If you let expectations fall away

and appreciate the spicy bitterness as it

Bursts across your tongue.

The sparkling juice flowers sweetly.

A complex cadenza of flavors

Yet simple in its purity;

Like newly fallen snow

Under a crisp wind

and bathed in golden sunrays. 

Don't dare mar its natural purity

With a coat of sugar,

To overpower it's inherent sweetness,

Douse the original honest medley,

and spoil your dulled taste buds. 

For then the lime will be only what you think

you want it to be,

The lemon will be cloaked in shroud to appease your soft pleasures,

but you will miss it's raw truth.

There must be some tart bite with the mellow sigh,

Some bitterness with the sweet.

Nevertheless, if you snuff out the fire

In trying to change it,

Only you have lost it,

For it will burn again

Another day

Another place

to warm someone else's heart. 

For if you abhor the honest flavor,

Never say what you mean,

Always tend toward the calm waters,

Never commit to convictions,

And repose in the soft, shy veil

of pleasing and unassuming deceptions.

Then you live as one asleep.

A carthorse who has put up it's own blinders,

and can't see the road between it's own shoes,

let alone the holes ahead. 

Ignorance is bliss until you wake up. 

Until you taste the bright and juicy notes

And savor the partnership between sour and bitter that

smacks your lips and draws a puckered inhale. 

The racing wind that quickens your footsteps and resolve,

Exhilarates your senses with zest

For Life. Ah;

Sugar? Sacrilege.