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First Love
July 13, 2010
Somewhere, apples lie scattered,
freshly fallen, ripe and ready.
Precious apples, waiting always,
Warm, sloppy kisses,
Hands grappling, tracing brown.
Soft, fragile fruit orbs,
Who loves you? Who loves us?
Bruises become skin,
leather touch, subtle rot.
Apple love die,
first and only
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