Ours is the perfect summertime romance.
Every spring, I watch for you. First, you appear as a small, small thing.
Your arms reach for the sky like a small child, waiting for the Sky Mother to crush you to Her chest.
Day by day, you grow. Now you lift your arms toward the sky, no longer waiting. Your arms raised, feet firmly rooted in the ground, you praise the Sun as She travels across the sky with your entire being.
As you praise the Sun, I revere you. I praise you. I adore you. I love you.
You blush as my anticipation grows. I impatiently wait for the day I can finally and truly devour you - your sweet acid taste bursting in my mouth as I roll your small, delicious globes over my tongue. In the garden, in the kitchen, before bed - it doesn't matter. Again and again, I must have you!
And then...you're gone. All I have left are the memories as the summer heat turns to winter's chill. That, and the anticipation of seeing you - my little love apple - again next year.
(Gee, what did you think I was talking about? Pervert.)