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"New York Eve" by Mary Prevost

Ah, the Apple
sweet, forbidden
fruit. Temptation
hangs red-hot red,
juicy, a taste
of desire, curved,
crisp, glistening
flesh-mound ripe,
peeling passion bare,
seed planted, grown huge.
Harvest time, reaping
sin, no stemming the tide,
sword flaming, reaching
to the center of truth,
blessed paradise

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