Forbidden Fruit

How sweet you were when you plucked me,
binding me like a scion to your wood-stock,
all purple haze and apple blossom high.

You offered me a bite of your apple,
a Bright Future, its roseate blush
mirror-buffed on your denimed thigh.

I gave you Broad-eyed Pippins,
weighed the bough with the fruit
of your Mona Lisa eye - that far out look

that I mistook for your poetic core -
nothing more than a cool withdrawal.
'Apples are not the only fruit,' you said.

Realisation is the ugly sister of truth.
I was a windfall picked up on a whim,
a bitter reminder of a tangerine dream.