A meal takes place
An empty space
Sitting in a bowl
Sotting and rotting and ceramically whole.
The fruit lays just behind.
Out of reach, not out of mind, for those who care to dare to sit
At this meal
Comes the decision
"the sun goes down
the stars go out"
Reach for the fruit, unforbidden,
Though still daunting
Simply, inexplicably because there's a choice
And there never was one before,
Our "universe will never be the same"
Or we could just leave and wait
For someone to decide instead
Or to place it within a reaching point.