1.6.17

Ripe.

A spark flies forth.

Tiny.

But very bright.

An apple ripens.

Red streaks, chasing green.

Sweet -

Chasing sour.

Up and around.

Its curves.

Swelling.

With readiness.

Its crunch sharpens.

Its sweetness heightens.

It's juice more tangy by the day.

The sun brushes warm rays upon to its skin.

Just ripe enough.

Just fine enough.

Just smooth enough.

To eat.

Perfect for a bite.

Marks from the teeth.

As the flesh collapses   -  into desire on the tongue.

Saliva spills..

Rushing forth.

Yes.

Another bite.

Insatiable.

Wanting.

More.