Honeycrisp
My boyfriend will eat
an entire apple in one sitting.
Peel, pulp, core. Hands me
the stem when he’s done.
Seeds in his gut. The calyx
a dank star. An orchard grows
inside him. The tongue
that slicks the skin. Hands
perfumed with bruised sugar.
His kisses a tender lament.
The heart that glows. How he takes
everything the fruit offers
and leaves nothing
but the stem. I let my body
follow. Set my jaw soft.
Rapt, greedy, this devotion.
Tough armor. Red glow. Yellow
flesh. Every bite a fall
from grace.
Copyright © 2026 by January Gill O’Neil. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 19, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“Sometimes I challenge myself to write about an object without naming (or overnaming) it. This poem is about appetite, devouring everything in sight. Love can be greedy and tender at once. I was thinking about the rhythm of a bite: peel, flesh, core, seeds, and all the sweetness in between. I wanted the language to be mouthfuls of texture and longing moving together, letting joy and pleasure shine. It’s a full-on celebration of giving yourself over entirely to something—or someone—you just can’t get enough of.”
—January Gill O’Neil
January Gill O’Neil
