how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another
apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon,
that means
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.

Autor: Richard Siken