For No Eyes Only

I am constructed

of sadder stock 

than most. The quickest

taste I can conjure

into my palate 

is a crab

apple plucked

from the pit

of weatherworn 

and barren

earth. Scorching 

and pleading in the same

tongue-spun creation.

Ashes to ashes,

luck is

good

luck reaping

what you’ve already burned. 

We start out lonely and die

alone.