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you are my apple skin 

you are my sweet my apple skin you are my sun my summer wind

you were my apple my apple skin a green blue river running

over our young ardor your hands your apple wooded melodies

pollen from the oak table top dusting my golden shoulders, my apple cheeks

your songs my April wind across the cotton bedsheets

sweaty flanks my horse mane a sour glass of lemonade with ice

withholding those butterfly caresses (I wanted your song) your song

singing summer lilac and hyacinth stems in blue bottles on the kitchen sill

we were wolf paws in the snow wolf noses in the vanilla bean

bright apples on the tree boughs in the August breeze

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About The Author

Stephanie Silvia

Stephanie Silva directed her own modern dance company in New York City and is a student of American poet Diane di Prima. She teaches movement and writing.

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