Apple, Clem Onojeghuo

Poem: The Apple


Her pixie mouth leaves a half-moon
of pale flesh exposed on tender ruby skin.
Bittersweet juice coats her lips like honey,
glossy sheen in sunlight.
The tip of her tongue wipes clean the evidence
while her fingers clutch the fruit, round,
nearly-whole, weighing down her palm
until it slides & hits the dirt: thunk.

The garden alights as though a sepia filter removed.
For the first time, her pupils dilate
& take in her world: no filter.

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