only the seeds of the apple fell to the floor,
bouncing like popcorn from button to trouser to plank,
diagnosed with startling illnesses, the kind we whisper about and turn our heads.
dissected botanical extractions arranged for inspection on stainless trays
colored pin heads marking important way points in our analysis,
masking a whimpering so exquisite and so damned
it can't be borne, must be buried,
beneath the wood and into the soil
like the telltale heart.
that girl was not a girl at all, perhaps a snake, perhaps a demon
with lips-that-are-not-lips, but teeth-that-are-teeth
lifted corners of a smile that comes in versicolor, which is not good.
the apple is handed
the apple is cut
the apple is eaten,
the seeds all but ignored as they fall...and nest...and pop,
become your future
not at all what you wanted, when you ate it.