We strike matches
along the shiny skins
of polished apples,
bite into the heat
of burning coals
that hold no seeds
within their core,
watch our reflections
on the heavy skins
of those ripening fruit
as if it will show us
a truer representation
of who we might be
because it too holds
a core beneath its skin
while the ashes add
a bitter fruitlessness
to the taste now thick
upon our tongues.

If we were obliged
to share, perhaps
we’d take more time
to peel back slowly
instead of striking
all those matches
that burn too quickly
while guiding blindly
all those ashes into
our oh so open mouths.

All words and photos by Damien B Donnelly