26 November 2012
Perfect sphere of scarlet flame, The fruit, as pure as snow, The skin, as red as blood, again, An apple, Wednesday's woe.
The stem, as dark as moistened mud, The pips, as black as night, Amphetamine intoxicated, Spiked and laced with fright.
A shot of nightshade, hemlock, two, One bite, the teeth will sink, A single spark of tongue will do, Skin broken for the drink.
The toxic fruit, its flesh will melt, Into a merlot stream, To trace its path, as ruby, dealt, A scarlet needle seam.
Apple Red As Blood • Opuss № I