It doesn’t look much.
A red, round thing.
Waxy in my palm.
Smelling of nothing.
Promising all.
He warned not to
I know.
The other one
said it was truth.
Power in edible form.
If only we dare
to be human.
Your face shadows
as I rip it
from the branch.
Ah, my love.
Always so good.
It tastes of grief
and honey.
Here…
Take it.