Her hands caress the surface contoured smooth
An apple far too beautiful to eat
She holds its face in both her hands consumed
By skin as red as malice or desire.
Its cheeks, its cheeks
As soft as seamless and as smooth as sweet
They cry for lips to kiss and tongues to tease
She bites the apples cheek as if to please,
But rips right through her quiet lover's skin
So ravenous to taste that flesh within
She stands below the tree that bore her fruit
Perhaps half guilty, and half proud.
His heart, his cheeks
As flushed as apples red and plucked to eat;
Whenever she upon an apple feasts,
Her worries, sorrows, nightmares wonder eats.
The snake who seeks to tempt her need not speak
His voice rings faint behind her passion's roar.
Where once her hands caressed an apple smooth
Now sits the vanquished spirit of a core
Were all men apples, and all ladies eve
Love (as yet defined) would cease to be.