was there an apple
waiting on that thirteen
inch screen or simply the
future set out in black and white
the page boy not quite blonde
hair that languished on the
pillow
in clumps around the not quite
perfect
teeth of what once was beauty
of all the rings that ringing rang
against the rubaiyat red of oh so
forbidden
fruit and his hand ‘gainst the small
of that elegant aching back while
all the while angst made its way
frame to frame up the winding
tree
of knowledge loss and Liebestod
middle age not quite admitted
youth not withstanding and
Eve
still a girl of twenty four at twenty
four forty years ago
forty
years
ago
© s rogers 22 Jan 2009