thank you for this poem , coach. :)

The Art of Apple-Peeling

My calloused hands
make knife’s-edge cut
deeply, leaving scars
where mouths should be,
wounding white flesh.

I need new hands
to hold the fruit as one
would hold the beloved’s
for the first time,
rinse the fruit clean with cold
running water,
and make a new pair of lips,
following the kiss through
to its long spiral finish.

I will share my apple with these hands.

Together we shall consume
it down to its poisonous core,

spitting out seeds
which will become new trees
which will bear new apples
which will wait for new hands.