The Golden Apple 

I want to show you my new skin
La peau fraîche de mon nouveau corps 
Human cells replace themselves after 30 days of living 
Sinews and pathways 
Change their direction 
Bringing the lodger on their travels 
We refresh 
Dirt stubbornly clings to the foetus of our new cell-born soul 
We are turned over 
Oozing from our own pores 
Like the caramel of a tarte tatin aux pommes 
We stick together 
And it is only then 
Caramelised and sticky 
Our messiness becomes communal 
Our bubbles explode sweet excrement 
Coating our psyches 
We are all jagged cuts of the same fruit 

I want to show you my new skin 
Despite being reborn
The scars and freckles are mine forever
Les cicatrices intérieures soufflent comme des poumons 
Their exhalations are salty 
Paris has made me one of her rats 
She doesn’t exist to make me happy 
I exist because she makes me happy 
My new skin glitters on the hour 
Gold contrasts with my blues
Dévoilez-moi de la fumée 
Watch the light reflect its caramel hues

I want to show you my new skin 
It woke up like this (flawless)
I did too 
As humans we try to suffocate the self 
Painting chemicals 
Painted curtains to hide a broken window 
Idealised perfection allows for human rejection 
We are all jagged cuts of the same fruit 
Strange fruit 
We hang from a single tree
An apple should not be perfectly round 
The Apple was eaten in rebellion
Allowing imperfection to reign 
We took the earth

Let us make a tarte tatin 
Paint ourselves in dripping gold 
Let our juices explode into history 
Escaping the frying pan mould 
Let us be apples 
Sugar saturated seeds 
Let us be saplings 



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