apples, and nothing more
-----
a wooden cutting board made of hard maple
baring dozens of knicks and scratches
from years of heavy use.
the fruit that glistens in the afternoon sunlight
filtered through marbled glass windows,
dew drops lingering behind from the rinse.
a silver paring knife
poised between my thumb and index finger,
ready to sink into red, waxy skin.
the act of peeling away
just enough, in one smooth, spiral motion,
to reveal flesh and be born anew.
the core left behind
after carving slices,
bearing seeds that will never hit dirt.
the pieces
which i'll eat, one by one,
each as crisp and sharp as the knife they came from.
they'll satiate me for some time,
but soon i'll be hungry for apples again.