Vashon Winery Journal (vashonwineryjournal.com)

This is a poem I wrote that expresses my discovery of European cider. Malus, by the way, is the genus that apple belongs to. 

On that London Park Bench

 
Alone, on that London Park Bench

She sat down next to me

In her splendid red coat, with green lapels

Streaked with yellow.

She said she saw me from her bakery

And I noticed flour on her apron.

 
I looked into her dark languid eyes.

Mirrors of antiquity.

Her voice soft and familiar,

Echoed from distant lands.

 
Behind us

An ancient apple tree

Stretched up to catch the sky.

A lone apple hung

And dewdrops sparkled in the autumn sun

Like tiny chandeliers.

While at our feet

A carpet of leaves

Rustled in the wind.

 
She inched closer

And whispered her name, Malus,

As she reached up and kissed me.

I tasted her parting lips, crisp

Tart fruit;

a softness in the middle of the tongue.

Saliva warmed a gentle fire,

A taste of pure desire.

 
My eyes closed,

A delicate mist

Of green perfume

Lingered over me.

And Malus stayed with me all my life

Though I don’t know where she went.

 
                                                                        Ronald Irvine

                                                                        February 7, 2008

 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 at 8:38 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.