F O R B I D D E N F R U I T

There you are,
close enough to touch,
far enough to ruin.
longing body that has waited decades
to be understood.
to be touched,
to be held

A warmth I can feel
but never claim.
A sweetness I can smell
but never taste,

You move through the room
like a quiet temptation,
The thick scent of truth is in the air
a soft gravity
pulling at the parts of me.
I pretend are still asleep.

I tell myself
I know better.
My Heart says go.
I tell myself
I’m grown.
I feel like I’m 16 again
I tell myself
this is nothing.
It is everything I want right now

But wanting has its own logic,
its own pulse,
its own way of slipping
under the doorway
no matter how tightly
I slam it shut.

You speak,
and the air shifts
just enough
to remind me
what I’m not allowed to reach for.
a soft gravity
pulling at the parts of me.
I pretend are still asleep.

You laugh,
and something in me
leans forward trying to get closer
before I can stop it.

So I keep my distance,
hands in pockets,
heart on a leash,
pretending I don’t feel
the tug.
And yet
here I stand,
truth in my hands.
Like a closed door
I’ve walked past a thousand times
without touching.

Some Achenes
are meant to stay
on the branch —
bright, ripe,
untouched,
achingly beautiful
in the sunlight
because they are
impossible.

And maybe that’s the point:
to feel,
but not to have.
To remember
but not to taste.
That wanting, the longing
is its own kind of living.

So I let you stay
where you are and I walk away.
far enough to save us both.
With the sweetness still on my tongue,
even though I never
took a bite.

D. Casabonne (c) 03.23.2026
All rights reserved