Fruit (Samantha Nagthall)

Forbidden fruit reveals its poison too late.

One taste and I am in rapture.

Willingly I succumb: my sin now my fate.

By its scent, I was easily captured.


Perfection in its unconventional design,

My fruit is the embodiment of beauty.

Eagerly I await its invitation sublime… 

This fruit is my god — how it moves me.


I lust for this fruit, memorize its skin.

It awakens my most primal senses. 

I peel its layers to expose within, and

Gratefully receive my recompenses.


Every detail, every flaw, I beg to witness.

(All encompassing and dangerous is this passion.)

Still I knowingly returned to its tree to pick,

More enslaved than I could have ever imagined.


But with a grip so sweet, I forgive its venom.

Still I ponder retreat, but instead confess:

There is no resolution.  Denial proves futile.

I surrender to being hopelessly obsessed.

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