Rhymes with Idiom

Sooner or later

the metaphors come

to an end.

apples & oranges

fallacious as

a forthright politician.

The apple of my eye

can be one-upped.

You’re the orange

of my ear. A voice much

sweeter than babble.

You never truly

finish a McIntosh.

Its core will see to that.

The crunch that speaks

of spit; its browning

that in moments says

it’s rubbish.

I’ve never had a worm

within a citrus. And the

only thing remaining

is the peel. I inhale its ambrosial

waft, savour its final juices

which have been bled in

sacrifice. Apples keep their essence

to themselves. Eager to say

don’t touch.

An orange mirrors the sun.

There is no greater love than

the sun. Florida does not have groves

of Cosmic Crisp.

Dapple rhymes with apple.

Its spots that enounce our Fall.

Orange has no echo.

It’s why the poets

avoid its use—a good

thing, really.

Apples have no navels.

Prudish from the start.

My anomalous

want of you is

too intense—I should have used

the cherry of my nose,

its aroma in the pie

my mother baked me

long ago—its taste that’s

tart in the mouth,

remembered to this day

whenever I see you by the

window in the buff.

I once swallowed

an apple seed. Mama said I’d

grow a tree inside me,

guarded by the cherubs and

a sword; locking me in

a moppet’s innocence; absent of sin

& longing; unwilling to fathom a

woman

without her clothes; unable

to grasp the thought of

forbidden fruit;

of life & good & evil;

of death from the touch

of tongues.

Andreas Gripp

December 13, 2025

RF Photo