apple

An apple

red, round, supple

glistening, glowing,

shapes and shades merge and glide over this bulbous thing

called a fruit.

An apple

i am told not to touch

so i stare at it longingly. 

I watch from far because

i am not to touch.

That apple!

I long for, but i know i would not want to eat.

Bloody apple, i dont even like.

But long for

only because it is the forbidden fruit

that apple – a festering fruit

an earthly, elemental dome for maggots, squirming, swarming, 

devouring the core

why is it so forbidden

suddenly

when my own core is a family of maggots,

curling comfortably,

waiting to make contact with distant relatives.