This fall
give me
three yellow quinces
from your tree
offer the fruit
between red palms
rub the bloom
beneath your thumbs
warm the flesh
with your fingertips
ripen the core
the black uneven pips
persuade the scent
of paradise
to linger on
the city skies
give me
one bitter taste
I'll not endure
december's waste
this winter
forgive me
three quinces stolen
from your tree
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