An apple crunches, and inflames with a rash,
It deploys, and spreads its wings from the robust nest,
Skin impatient and lepidote,
It burns as it flies,
Teeth marks ride its sun sand skin and make love to its chalky plasma,
Intimate, the fruit flies rest in their womb of seeds,
An apple falls from its perch upon a frosted cloud,
It descends into compost and corrodes itself to ebony ash,
Its past is gone now, and is lost in a sea of obscurity