she likes eating apples, likes

the symbolism

inherent in the act.

before taking the first, fateful

bite, she twists the stem

a half-absent automatic ritual

intones letter after letter until one

breaks—

then tosses it away

with a rueful sneer.

she’s waiting for the twenty-

seventh, perhaps.  anyway,

her teeth are sharp, and

the crunch most satisfying.

her tongue dances with tart juices

spilling through pierced skin—

she devours.

messy fluids spill over

chin and hand,

everything stickysweet.

then tossing the core, casual,

irreverent

she moves on

nothing gained but nourishment

and nothing lost at all.