Like Overripe Fruit

   

Although he is smiling I can see a fog

   surrounds him, obscuring his rainbow

Nervously he natters on about irrelevant

   events, skittish to broach a subject

      long past its due date

The topic hangs in the tense space between us

   like an overripe fruit, bruised but still

      clinging to its withering vine  

   

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