Time has slowed to a murmur.
We snooze, squash oranges from the grove,
my thighs sweet and sticky.
We chew the tart, salted cheese and
ponder about dinner.
For three hours, we train
a circus of chafer beetles to balance,
perilous, on a lemon's rind. They look
so good, so green and so shiny.
The afternoon's arduous tasks
taken care of, we surrender our skin
to the torpor of the sun.