You held a naked apple
as the sky holds the moon.
Your breath and tide
I cannot distinguish.
In waves of grace
the ivory trunks
turn to Doric columns
in the mist; natures
temple stands revealed.
The apple split in two
holds a star in its core.
Its fleshy sweetness
falls like desire
to hungry lips.
Reflection found pause
in hidden mirrors
that lent its silver
to your tongues
for want of a life of sound
and rhythm.
The music of the world
distant as two mirrors
facing each other.