by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from Paulus
Silentarius, The Greek Anthology, vi, 290
She sent him home with two apples,
rosy red. Her mother watched
but missed their secret gaze as eyes
outlined the apples, hand to hand.
What wizardry she worked,
ensorcelling desire so that,
alone, his hands trace ’round
and ’round the apples’ edges,
eyes closed, the curve of her —
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