The Size of Apples

The apples in the backyard are
the handful, mouthful size, no more.
their skin is pale and matte, catching
not even the glint of lipstick or teeth closing around one.
There was an apple, at least one, that
she needed two hands to measure.
And when she noticed that its skin was
as deep as a kaliedescope, she used her two hands
to pull it to her face,
staring across a glossy red world,
her face magnified to a perfect likeness.
And the deciever didn't have to
tell her how perfect it would
be to eat.
To shake clinging green placenta that reflected nothing,
to injest and be injested
by herself, by the image of
the original.
to know his blood as he
knew hers.
It seemed only natural, only
deeper love.
It was not until later, she was
decieved that her image in the glossy skin was
the original.
and nothing is too perfect to know.

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