Devouring the last of the gems would be treason,
So I nibble down apricots to quell the unease.
I sticky my fingers with fruit and not facet,
At 4 A.M., hidden in murmuring attic.
[ But apricots are not sapphires, juicy and ripe in the cabinets. ]
The tang of a trilliance drives my tongue rabid.
“Permit me devour it,” I beg of His Hand—
His Hand is the man who lives and I stay,
A biologist dictating gem-DNA.
[ But their DNA is locked away, hidden in creaking cabinets. ]
In defiance, His semi-truck bursts through the window,
And His fractured glass panes rain on me like snow,
His Hand along with my lover-turned-enemy,
Flake out with a gesturing eye of hegemony.
[ The two ravenously kiss, unashamed in a cabinet. ]
Unholy embezzlement: devouring untamed!
His Hand and the Crash form my well-learned shame.
The apricot’s rotted—woe, I am undone!
For emerald’s shine was unfit for Man’s tongue.
[ The gems shall be bolted to the insides of cabinets. ]
