Flattered, I suppose I should be-
For I've spent my whole life working for this-
That I could blossom like an apple on a tree,
Inducing desire in the mouth with which you kiss.
That I'm finally as red as red could be,
A favorable size for markets to sell,
With juice that sweetens my consumer's tongue,
...Silence toward the hand from which I fell.
I yearn to be in your home
Long enough for my skin to shrivel.
My insides would be mushed and bruised,
But they would be there, and they would be full.
And maybe you could love my core-
For an apple without a core cannot bloom-
And I could be the apple of your eye
Even after my flesh is all consumed.
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