The Apple

Alone and searching through the black,
like the only soul on a stretching four lane highway
rimmed with trees that try to touch my face
through the open window frame of a car I can't remember buying.

Waiting without feeling or hope of ever knowing
the red and yellow heat of your pulse filled kiss
upon my lip glossed mouth.

I sit accepting, staring at a page
filled with blank and vapid words
which can never tell the tale of a hopeless heart
hidden beneath a shirt printed with the name of a band
that broke up ten years before.

By 3am the thick smoke from a hundred wasted breaths
fills the tiny blue-walled room where I once savored
of a fruit so forbidden as to never be tasted again.

© 2004 LM Hutchings