I watched the apple fall out of my tree
Its vivid crimson outline filled me
with a since of cacoethes telling me I wanted it
thus every peice of me focused on its descent

With a whisper of the airy breeze
a hushed twig is fractured with ease
the ruby orb drops in a shaft of light
a magnet pulling it down by small degrees

The flawless pome hits the ground with might
hence almost leaving a scathe and a smite
seizing it from the ground I notice it's speckless
almost too pure to eat, still I take a bite

The rich acidic taste seems all right
My mouth burns with a flavor which is trite
I have tasted it day after day, night after night
But this was the last apple, now there's only an apple blight