Apples

Your leaf is the color of the clovers that cover my lawn
The same shape as the parabolas I see in math
Your fruit is the size of the ball of yarn on my desk
The same color as the blood that falls from my skin
Your juice tastes of acid and sugar and wind
Reminding me of cinnamon and fire
I will use you in pies, or wrap you in caramel
Have you with waffles in the morning, in slices with lunch,
Or in cider, with spices, right before bed
I will only gather you in autumn, 
But I will remember you all year