pickle stray
on the cusp of loaf
a tip of melons

mess hall
on the brisk of tomatoes
a  fox whisks helium

I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.

But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.

You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.

You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.

And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.

It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.

I'm torn and wearing down
I'll leave your town without a sound
When the love is fading out
I'll crawl like a mouse
Out of sight and out of mind
It dampens my fire
***** it all out
Showdown
Low down
Go down
Smoldered and shouldered
I'll play the clown
Once the garden was green
The birds chirped and sang
The light of day nurturing
An aura of peace
Love and warmth and
Milk and sweetness
And golden honey
But a babe who twisted the rules
He played the keepers for fools
Always some trouble of playing with fire
From a prodigal son into a merciless liar
He promised and swore not to open that door
But the fruit was ripe and yet tempting
Like ambrosia of yore
Sweet and spellbinding
And barbed at its core
Taunted and haunted
Bound by a contract
And the roof came crashing down...

At the last, peaketh through a curtain,
And prepare a kisseth, for eyes sadder

the end he croons, Lost lurking
theatrical & mind madder

In mystical robes, a servant
An unearthly serpent
striking and slanting dithery
an ancient brush of mystery
The fierce temperament expressed great design

A glimpse of what she knew,
And Blinks before eyes unknown

A tree won't have its fruit
with just the sunlight alone.
It needs rain—that's a simple truth.