Orange

God’s love is orange like the zing of citrus exploding in your mouth like a million firecrackers, as you sit, warmed by the sun on your front porch, noisily sucking, slurping, swallowing tangy juices that sticky your fingers. God’s love is orange.

God’s love is orange, almost red, as you sit on the step, your eyelids screwed tightly shut, watching the little bugs floating in your eyes, the hum of a mosquito by your ear, the sun warming the freckles on your upturned face. God’s love is orange.