Everyday I see oranges on trees
Bright, juicy and
I think anxiously of the apple rotting slowly
On my kitchen counter
I'd rather eat it.

I think of peeling the banana
Riding in my car
And while it fills my stomach
And it could be called breakfast
I want my apple.

And the mango offered in a cafe
In the middle of the rainforest
On the side of a volcano tastes like heaven,
Grainy, juicy, ripe
And I think of my decaying apple.

My apple, my obsession
All I want now
Dangerous though it is
And I think of Eve and wonder
Does every woman have her apple?

I'd be okay with getting old
If I got to keep these gams
They'll wrinkle and sprout those purple-green veins
Like spiderwebs spun over kneecaps
Yes, since aging means ugly legs
I think I'll find a Peter
And a Neverland
And fight pirates in fabulous Lost Boy tights
That accentuate my ever-youthful gams

I’m spinning in circles and sea horses prove God
And when I sleep my eyes lie awake staring at my eyelids
And even when I do not listen I hear and it can never stop,
My heart will pump oxygen to every humming vibrating Technicolor cell until it just doesn’t anymore
And when I run away I surprise myself by already being wherever I am