Apple bottom

Never been on that end of the conversation,

Pulsed in a passion in a must instead of a passing whim

Color me in on the gray of a role I have never played

Of being in a position to say no, to crush a dream

To break apart the cortex of someone that seems

So certain and determined that faith had grown roots in

A feeling of yearning of knowing that options were turned inside

Out like a pillow case holding the pace of a day, a week

A life daring to speak its in intentions that a soul

Could not fathom failing to mention,

I need you and want without a fear of the hunt

To be left alone in the wilderness frigid and bare as

Autumn sheds to winter’s nudity

Getting to read a letter reaching out a beauty discerned in the amount

Of faith someone else could have in me, to ask

To plead to keep the apples baking under her American skin

A hearth for an always in of sweetness and strength

Closing in on a savored taste of Thursday afternoons in November

Harvest without protest and red lips like sacraments

Pushed in and ready covered in spiraled off apple peels

To a core of white flesh hoping to explore the seed

Bare as there can be asking for me