Once, I tasted love’s bitter bite.
An unripe apple coursing with sour venom.
Little flames scorched the tender spots in my mouth,
Never to be healed.

It began as a curiosity,
A shiny, waxed exterior, smooth and flawless.
Red as the blazing sun, giving way to night’s passion,
Enticing and false.

Soft spots decayed, festering within.
Worms wriggling within the sweet flesh.
Seeds concealing poison, on the verge of combustion,
The fruits of our labor.

Now, what need do I have for desire?
A withering stomach clinging onto empty promises.
The lies served to me, clear on the menu.
I believe I’ve lost my appetite.