Hard cracked board leans in the light
Step lightly over torn floor boards
Tearing apples off the shelf and into a sieve.
Cold in fall fashion, on the outside.
She opens the press and steals my heart away
Close one by one with a fiendish hurry.
Juice runs down it's metal spine.
Freeze on contact.
What's left is a white and green mash
Fragrant with a loosed rage and stale sweetness
Spread on toast.