independent of its composition

Apples don’t leave, they juice.
They don’t sauce, they seed.
They ripen in the heart of a blossom.
In tree bark.
In the cusp of a bow.
In the weight of gravity.
Swaying to and fro.
On your head like a target.
Containing 5 carpals.
Arranged in a 5 point star.
The resemblance of a pentagram.
The likeness of forbidden fruit.
The similarity a wild ancestor.
Iðunn handing out youthfulness.
Before going completely mad.


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