don't taste just touch

so i went and bought an apple the other day and put in the palm of my hand. i couldn't eat it or turn it into a pie so i just looked at it, like it belonged to my hand. red and shiny and delicious and maybe some day i'll be like that apple, perfect, but i'm not getting my hopes up. he called the other day and said i was beautiful but it doesn't mean anything. words don't mean much of anything anymore and it's this lost art that maybe we'll find and maybe we won't and the words they just keep falling away. fuck means pear and love means dirt and it's all four letters and it's all the same, don't you see? part of me wants to hold onto that illusion of romance, but i'm not a poet and i'm not a romantic so i'll just sit here and look at my apple that i can't ever taste, i'll just touch.