There are apples in
(aching blossoms, knotted fingers, upturned
hands collecting breezes)
if you pluck!
blush golden crunch upon your tongue,
pulse alive inside salvation's skin.
(It's Gala gravity! Through windows' jubilee
I heard an apple in
the Fall… its
(aching blossoms, pointed fingers
whispered flames, a garden lingers)
when we pluck!
blush golden madness
on her tongue, fingers brush
we peel salvation's skin
All the same, (I fear)
the taste is worth the sin.