Apple Tree

In a country garden I would like to be the apple tree

Reposed in solid euphoria

Breathing deeply in an orchard


Stretching longs limbs into the solemn soil

Caked in heavy earth but with my hair

Floating on the air above


Tousled in a wholesome beauty

Whimsical in bloom

Serious as fuck in yield

Flirting quietly in the eerie wind: a flower girl in workman boots


My tarty half-spent fruits in the ruffled canopy of my skirt

Giggling ‘Pick me!’ even as they lie on their backs

Squinting at the sun


Catching the rain with my tongue and

The red heat on my pink cheeks

With my zest and my scent and all my warm promises

Grounded in strength


And when I flash a wink at Mr. Kipling

– filled with years of juicy contemplation-

He would never be quite sure

If I was being sweet


If I meant for him to taste me



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Filed under Mumbo Life, Mumbo Obsessions, Mumbo poems, Uncategorized

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