What happened, happened once.
I canít remember how it started.
Did I pick you carelessly
as we walked hand in hand,
with my lips on yours and
yours groping for mine?
With that hunger, did I take the bite right there
in front of the stars and everybody?
Or had I planned to take what was not mine?
Itís been long enough
that my calculations are lost to me,
except for this: that the deed is done.
So now itís best in memory-
an apple you sliced: the skin unbroken,
then the knife, the chilled wedge
lifted to my mouth, your mouth,
the thin membrane between us,
the exquisite apple, tongue, apple,
the way you pushed me up against the fridgeó
the kiss that didnít last,
but sent some neural twin
flashing wildly through the cortex.
Love is merciless in the way it travels in
and keeps emitting light,
and I'm a tragedy, one after another
and my torn pieces don't get along.
Let me reach out for your skin, uncovered.
Let me feel your hands
without all accouterments,
minus all the layers.
Beside the stove we ate an apple.
And there were yellow flowers on the table.
And we still had hours.