The apple
Sits atop an old book
- its yellowed leaves
Coated with decades of dust
The deep rouge of the fruit
Gives it a classic look
of perfection
It sits there
Beckoning.
Mirror-surfaced
Red beauty
Looks ready to burst-
Taut with sweetness
Strange hunger draws me
To that scene
I sit
And stare
The seconds pass
A sigh escapes
Reaching out
For the food in sight
I eagerly devour it
Slowly
As the hunger leaves
The apple sits
And stares
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