The Apples

THE APPLES Munching shiny apples from the fruit market We face each other without pretending, Our tablecloth of pure whiteness unmarked Cotton, and our full cups overflowing. She is the prettiest in the city, thinking I only the finest cavalier, and eye only for her. She is the only woman loved and loving, In a world where none has loved before. Of womanly-happiness she is the picture. We are the couple I have always dreamed of, When they look with tenderness at each other And shine from the inside because of their love. One face glows with light from the other’s - A finger-touch sparks the fervour, Brightening as entwining fingers Tighten in anticipation of more Outpouring of warm whiteness. I feel your soul softly shake: Fruitful prenuptial supper’s gladness. Good-morrow and we wake. * She is life - the apple of my eye. We are all my shining world round. Apples fallen from the same tree: We are one soul from one ground. . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Note * This line is based on John Donne’s “The Good Morrow” stanza 1. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Written by Sydney Peck for Nette Onclaud’s Contest SOFT SENSUALITY