The Apple
You have enslaved me with your lovely body;
You have put me in a kind of prison.
Since the day we parted,
I have found nothing that is like your beauty.
So I comfort myself with a ripe apple—
Its fragrance reminds me of the myrrh of your breath,
Its shape of your breasts, its color
Of the color that used to rise to your cheeks.
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.