I kissed a poison apple
His lips flaked away
Their bloody green
Mysterious sheen
Simply crisply
Withered gray.
He’s gone
I’m blue
My skin is too
And I wonder
If joy
Will take.
I come across
A mirror.
Polished perfect gleam
My eyes are bright
My skin is tight
And I hate
What I don’t see.
Not him,
Me.
Naomi Samuel 