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Click hereWhen I call you my slut
it's only a small apple label:
"fuji 94017 organic"
easily peeled and discarded
at lunchtime
your mind on other things.
When you call yourself my slut
the apple becomes suddenly aware
of its own deliciousness
and offers up its crisp
sweet flesh
to be eaten.
What a difference the time of day makes and who's saying it with a juicier meaning
I like this poem a lot. I like the metaphor; the apple thing is cunning and unexpected. A very cool poem and nice and precise.