They blame you, apple.
They call you temptation, cruelly
But justly, your cool sugar,
Your slight resistance, never yielding too easily,
Leading one to resist partaking, but yield to temptation
Again, and again, and again,
And each time you are different,
Each feast is a gamble
So veiled are you,
So opaque, so shrouded in your vestments of red
And green, and gold
Each time we yield to each other
There is something new under the sun.
You were not the
fruit that felled Eve;
Your connection to her is, on the surface, just a Latin pun--
But, like your surface,
It conceals a secret juicy and sweet and bitter,
Something so wrong
Yet so right.