Cold apples
Are what it's become.
That's what it all boils down to
With me.
You feel them on your tongue;
Smooth, cool slivers rising up
To press your gums;
Whole mouth sweet and numb.

Better buy the whole bag.
Not my favorite, but still so good.
Delicious red hues and shape;
Every one so different in taste,
Yet so alike in so many ways.
Cold apples in the afternoon
With sun spilling everywhere
Upon me restless.

Restless for a change. Change
My number, change my game.
Some great thing must be
On its way and soon. This vision
Of Life changed quickly;
Dropped it's secrets a little and
You know they all make sense.
But I'm still me before this for
The cold apple still remains.