It happened over an apple. We were in a market,
sunshine and August showers flickering through the glazed roof
over a barrel of apples, green with a blush of red,
the dew still seeming to glisten on them. You picked one up.
Try it and see, Miss, said the vendor. You nodded, and bit
into the crisp flesh. You felt its juice explode in your mouth
as I did when you passed it to me for the second bite.
They’re called Discovery, said the vendor, a very good
eating apple. We bought a pound of them, some wine and cheese,
and repaired to the country where we picnicked by a stream.
You offered me a Discovery. This time I could taste
your mouth from it through the juice. We took bite for bite from it
until we finished it as one. We threw away the core.
Then we asked things of each other we’d never asked before.