The apple stem hits my teeth
as I hungrily gnash at the flesh
and I imagine tasting other hands
that handled the apple before I did;
I didn’t bother washing it, just the
technique, which leaves all the germs
yet a nice shiny denim glow.
I had the good sense to pull my hair back
or I’d be eating that too.
My curls taste a little like old showgirl,
with a dalliance of muppets.
My kisses taste of golden delicious
and chocolate. With a dash of mania.
I ate through to the seeds.
I look at the seeds, the possibilities,
the knowledge of fruit and skin
and all Eden held before we mucked it up.
I toss the whole core in the trash.
I unwrap another kiss.
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