Apple of your eye, apple pie
Silken stress cut peel
I will not melt in oven strength
Or under grounded heel
Of crush stricken fantasy meet.
Melt in your mouth margarine
Sticking to the crystal boat
With pieces of my shredded shyness
Rubbed in by a rough shod toe
I slip away ashore.
Maybe still in marmalade pot
The orange will be an orange
For me to find my place
I grovel among the pleading mass
And the silver spoon thrusts me in.
Crust and crumbs I cling to you
As purveyors of the deep
As discarded survivors in the care worn dish
When fruit and nuts will mix
Yet again be whole.