#8 Apple Picking

-

 

I.

I made love out of letters

Beginning with “R”

 

Then piled them up in a basket

And called it “our poem.”

 

Sat watching the meaning hang

Itself and fall with a thump

 

I had nothing really more

to go off of, but all the

 

Rotten apples leaving

sweet smells from faraway-

 

Gave me reason to peer into a different light

and notice the precarious end of branches

 

How high up you are

Before –

 

There are bruises where we left

Them just leave that there.

 

II.

Pick up my open hands, remark

Why are we always hungry?

 

The bright ones ruin our jaws

spitting apple juice by accident

 

Laughing that our stomachs

hurt in a healthy way

 

Love is a decision, glorious tasting

I didn’t even need a ladder to

 

Reach between those hidden things

called leaves.

 

You just happened beside me

like two seasons.

 


my poetry chapbook available through etsy: Echoes 

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