I am at the farmers market;
October is dull between storms
and if not for the apples falling
it might be time spent waiting
for the next strong wind to wake me.
The Pink Lady apples are smooth
and the color of your cheeks before champagne,
the Red Delicious remind me
of what is left after —
Gentle bends, and silky swimming
in line dried cotton sheets made all the softer
after being frozen in an early frost,
and how my hand grazes
without July's tackiness.
I am bringing you a Honey Crisp
to revive your heart, sweet flesh.
Your teeth will break the skin
and a pearl
will dribble down your chin.
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