Smell Apples


Flooded with moments filling up as sea and rock pools kiss
Apple blossoms dazzle. Lone gnarly one hangs,
bad ass to core – our miracle
and hippy dippy cat.
Innocent eyes looking up between the ears. Hands holding sun.
Mother. I’ve birthed beyond myself
smell fruits before the buds. Decades rooted. Found their way from mind to page
immortally planted with

Muzzle’s smile beaming down oozing appley foam drenching clouding velvet lips with sunsets chomping more than just pulp and pips, low whinny’s hum. Hands sticky with joyous mess tongues tenderly devour. Hooves still with summer.


From behind settee bitten by grip of hide, no seek apple to mouth froze, spittle sickly sweet drips hot plops, not knowing beyond the count of five, the bite still waiting, heart pounds louder than drum, the only time eyes paused wide like fox the moment hound bays above shifting earth raining it on to snout beneath the chase aching scurry, back to wall darkness ensues. Stay low stay. His footsteps always echoed. I heard the future hooves gallop the hills. And sea. Sea’s lullaby.


Have you ever turned apples in hands, right before moments teeth pierce skin and juice explodes itself to lips longing to drink, see reflections of sun? Flooded with moments filling up as sea and rock pool kiss? Quarter breeze breaking pastry enveloping stewed brambly just enough to ooze itself dry crunching soft sour sugary sand echoing in molars, gulping in self, here, now?

editors note:

Apple-ish erotica. Delicious! Oh, my! – mh clay

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