Sunday, September 20, 2015

Resistance is Fruitless

Apricots, pregnant, hanging low,
the golden drops of blessed sweet.

Be careful! Some have fallen, split

against the concrete. And as though
they're lips and tongues prepared to kiss, 
have flowered open 'round the pits.
They're silky mines below your feet—
It's too late: You are part of it.  
Oh now it's fruitless, why resist?

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