Apple

All my ventures in the flesh of grapes
were because
I was searching for wine,
the fire that I knew existed in the green rachis,
in the flesh of gardens
within the ashes of
sweet nectars.

My world
did neither end
in the body, nor in the fate, of an apples,
like an insect, an inner worm,

more so,
nor in the bite of an apple,
like an outer parasite
dwindling from the eyes of lust,
gravitating in the
appetite of being.

But without the fire fermenting
in the core of fruits,
in the flesh of grapes,
in the heart of apples,

without wine bearing in the end of orchards' longings,
it is "heaven," indeed
that seems falling
from the
apple
of my
eyes.