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They blame you, apple.

They call you temptation, cruelly

But justly, your cool sugar,

Your slight resistance, never yielding too easily,

Leading one to resist partaking, but yield to temptation

Again, and again, and again,

And each time you are different,

Each feast is a gamble

So veiled are you,

So opaque, so shrouded in your vestments of red

And green, and gold

Each time we yield to each other

There is something new under the sun.

You were not the fruit that felled Eve;

Your connection to her is, on the surface, just a Latin pun--

But, like your surface,

It conceals a secret juicy and sweet and bitter,

Something so wrong

Yet so right.