Me and you, babe, are like Teacher and her apple.
Though like Eve we are tempted by Satan's apple.
I picked you high above, far from reach, glistening
from summer days, picked from the tree a fresh apple.
'Twas the poetic thing to say, but really I
saw you in Facebook on products made by Apple.
Some think we don't gel together, too different, we're
tomato and basil, not oranges and apples!
It's obvious how to keep the doctor away.
Would it work on you, just by eating an apple?
But you know I don't mean it (at least all the time).
A thought came to me in mid-bite of an apple.
Will you and I, find a little home together,
like a worm finds a home in a juicy apple?
Though Timothy observes various meanings
he truthfully just likes the taste of the apple.
For the Jazzy Poem Contest.