Meet Me Under the Apple Tree
We'll laugh and sing under that sycamore
dreaming of days where we'd feel childish and craving
for Father to find us frolicking in all that he was granted us
content with unfulfillment
I shouldn't have followed you down that path, strange friend,
where your eyes slither up and down my unsullied flesh
digging your way into my mind
plaguing me with unfulfillment
My teeth clattered at the cool of the sweet
the juices slipping down my chin, dripping on my bare breast
your forked tongue trembling with delight as I looked down at myself in shame
unfulfilled with nudity
We'll cower under that weeping willow
the rains and chill from the angel of music
consuming up, past the point of no return
Father glowers down at us, unfulfilled from our disrespect.
©SelfTitled, 2017