Crab Apple

Apple on a table one day old.

Round and firm.

Light glinting off tight skin.

Rosy red cheeks.

Crisp, supple juice

locked away behind her scarlet garment.

Apple on a table three days old.

Round and tender.

Oily sheen like a film on her brow.

Her sweet perfurme

that ends in a spike of acidity

as her robe becomes looser around her pliable form.

Apple on a table just a week old.

Deformed and defamed.

Dust and decay her discolored jewerly.

Her cheeks but hollowed out skull bones

sucking inward to spit out seeds

with her last breath.

Scarlet turned to blood.

Blood to rust.

Rust to dirt.

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