The Sadistic Act Of Eating An Orange

Round oranges. Plenty of them. Lying one next to each other, sometimes one on top of the other. Eine auf dem ruecken und eine ueber ihr. Beautiful oranges sitting on that tray. I take one and save it for later. It shall satiate both hunger and thirst when night falls over me without asking if I am done with all my day's work. I shall be filled with exasperation to read those lines that seem to become longer and more complex as my eyes try to catch them.
I will carve my teeth through her skin. Without mercy. Without having pity on ruining such perfect shape or depriving her of garments. I will find her trying to protect herself with that bitter white cover that I will bite all the same, for my desire for her sweet inside will be stronger. And I will proceed to alternate between bitting off the acid peel and the pulp. I will enjoy biting the porous bit of her structure, even if when it makes my lips hurt in an unusual way when the acid is splashed on them. And I will be mocked by everyone who happens to see me soaked in sticky orangy juice but I will not mind. And I will not mind either the persistence of the pain in my lips and the bits of pulp that remain in my teeth even after brushing them twice.