On the apple

Photo: Akpan

 

Sown to perfection without thread

The egg that’s broken to joy

Meat of the garden

Fish of its basket

Crisp and tender, teach men to ice

My soul smiles as it bites

Smooth as cotton, a pillow for my lips

See as its future, lies in the middle

Not spreading obstruction nor confusion

You chose to be round

So you can roll to all freely

BITE THE APPLE

It does not remain the same,

precious for our sight, what remains

Yes what remains

But to bite it all

Till it is no more

Or shall we forever adore

And hunger drain us sore

 

Subscribe to our newsletter for latest news and updates. You can disable anytime.