The apple is the least sensual of all fruit:
presented to teachers,
yanked off a branch,
sliced and piled beneath pastry dough.
Not a temptation, but perhaps a reminder
I marvelled at the way you peeled the apple,
the glossy red skin spiralling from the fruit
its colour and sheen reduced to pallor.
I asked about the soft brown spot.
A bruise, you said.