Ode to my apple

Is this an apple which I see before me?
Come, let me behold thee.
’Tis shapen like an apple red
yet hath these shining russet yellow streaks all round.
’Tis small, yet light upon my hand,
with tiny broken stalk upon its upward face.
’Tis like a cherry – larger – yet not so sweet;
with juice, ’tis crisp and crunchy to the bite,
a taste like fallen honey drops,
sharp to my teeth, sweet to my tongue,
rapture to my nose, with flavour rich and joyful;
and cheerful sound unto my ears.
This gentle longing to have thee whole,
at once, as favourite love-bites on my lips.
Oh, wondrous fruit, how blest thou art.
Thy skin, though firm doth still resist my ardent bite
yet longeth to be with me – as any lover might –
to satisfy my hungry need.
I love thee still,
thy inner flesh so firm, so white,
so pure within and true.
I love thee, all of thee.
Resist me not, my love is sure
And will be till I’ve eaten all of you!