Tuesday 3 October 2017

Poem 03/10

Oh thank God for that!
Crisp skin broken on a juicy red apple.
Sweetest tang, slightest pain
juices rolling down flecked flesh
shadows on every alcove
in this darkened room
heady, and heated
open a window.
Now the glistening mass of shadow on the bed
is sated no end, and a juicy apple sits shining red