Teeth sink into cold flesh
Piercing thin skin
The crunch of triumph rings:
devour me whole
Leave nothing behind
but the rotting, browning, sugary core
and seeds with a tiny drop
of cyanide
(if ever, in case, the apple bites back).

Break me down to my barest pieces
and root shiftlessly through the rubble
clean house, so they say, and getting
ready for spring
Rid yourself of the taste of me.