Fingertips, stained and sticky crimson,
on trembling hands brought up to widened eyes
that spill warm droplets past quivering
lips, parted and parched.
And she knows not what
punishment is being
inflicted on her childlike vessel,
newly budding.
Panic-stricken, she
flees from the filth-stained sheets of
sweaty corruption and
into the overwhelming
darkness.
Bewildered bliss blinds this
sheep as she is prepared for
slaughter;
a woman banished after
one seemingly harmless bite
of succulent sweet fruit
the color of crimson.