Skip to main content

Sweet Tango

 He's a crispy boy, but I don't feel much like dancing. There is a hint of sweetness, but that could be coming from me. The residual sweetness of being held by people that love you and see you for all that you can be. The water content in this apple is high, or maybe my mouth is wet from tears that I've cried and tasted. No saltiness, just moisture, the dew of joy. Sweet Tango won't make it into the orchard, but my friends will.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hunnyz

 Sweet, crispy, juicy. Has all this fun, juicy shit going on despite the wrinkly worn exterior. I'm shocked this old apple has so much life to it. Almost tastes like a pear, but if a pear were flavorful and sweet with the essence of honey. Definitely going into the orchard. So many celebrations to be had within my own heart, large, small, present future. But there's so much shit swirling around the outside of my skin. A lot of it is hard. A lot of it is out of my control. A lot of it makes me really fucking sad. So I hold on tight to those joys that I have to keep close. I don't know if there's anyone else here to celebrate. I don't know if tomorrow the circumstances will change. I don't know if the wear and tear on the skin is making its way into the meat of my delicious flesh. My sweet spirit. My fun heart. God, I hope my heart stays fun.
Post a Comment
Read more

Gold Snap

 This tastes like a Granny Smith that is whispering instead of yelling. Juicy. Tartness hiding in a dark corner, peaking out with every bite. The texture is definitely like a snap, not super crispy, but the resistance is there. Not great, but pretty good!
Post a Comment
Read more

Lucy Rose

 I shelled out a nice chunk of change for this apple because the flesh is a little red inside. Wouldn't say I'm incredibly disappointed, I also don't claim to be deeply pleased. At least it's an apple. It's sweet like a Honeycrisp on a mediocre day. Not much complexity, but crispy enough to be noisy. I'll send the seed to my future orchard just to throw his genes into the wind. The first bite compelled me to tell someone how red it wasn't. But there is no one to tell. Isolation is strange like that. You'd think the instinct to reach out would morph into a song that only you can hear. A song that stays between your own ears, not groovy enough to make you dance, but live enough to take you out of the moment. Instead, your hands still stretch in front of you, feeling their way through an empty space. Breaking through your own electromagnetic field just to find you on the other side of it, standing alone.  I'm grateful that I had a pretty and safe apple ...
Post a Comment
Read more