Apple

 

Her luscious lips that are as red as Noah’s blood,
They tinker with my heart full of frigid love;
She awakens me whole every waking hour
As the wind blows the chimes, the pipe, and my mind.

I savor her succulence and feel some heaven,
Her truth and beauty beyond the mind to number;
She is enamored of my encroaching bites,
As if my thrust of love was her only respite.

She grows where growing is surely unlikely
That the sun feels so defied yet with lust shines.
I marvel at the fruit that mystifies my eyes,
Its smell that sets astir my vices and desires.

 

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