Apple red, apple crisp. Forthright bite, juice flow down arm, sinfully licked. Lust for another, not yet finish with this. Orchard of pleasure spread thick. Trees splinter free, pain only possible on a genies wish. Ancient text misread, only in silence we speak of this. Rituals foretold, perform I’ll proper and bold. The dead turn over in their grave, some angry enough resurrect themselves in the new age. Old dogs may change but, only amnesia to the head will make them forget old ways.