I see it hanging from the tree
it’s virgin skin
red and ripe
amongst the late summer leaves 

I long to bite into it
taste it’s sweetness
on my tongue,
feel it’s juices dribbling
childishly down my chin  

It’s high.
I have to climb
the rough
crumbling bark,
grazing palms and shins
in my pursuit

Until aloft
I stretch and reach,
but my fingertips
fail to grasp,
and it falls 

I jump to the grass below
to find my prize,
but every shiny fruit
hides a savage scar 

and though I search
I cannot find perfection