i love macintosh apples, the ones you eat,
i love the dark red skins, the creamy white inside.
so bright its almost blinding...
if snow white ate a poison apple.
it would be a macintosh,
the texture on your tongue, its sweet and crisp, like a cold cloud.
when i sit down with you, drift into your arms,
when you lift my chin,
its like i'm sinking into that crisp apple.
that dark delicious
pure white
hopeful. hard. place.
don't drop me
