I’ve a capacity for cruelty.
And I’ll be the first to say
I know
it’s wrong,

to let the darkness in to play (in from the rain)
without checking intentions
at the door.

I want

to hurt sometimes,

to crush these friends of mine—
pressing efforts into dust so fine

that it’s not.

So wasteful to leave
hard-earned apples in the sun

just to prove
they’re yours to rot.

But I do.
I leave them blue.

And in those seconds while the wasps descend,
I think I finally understand

You.