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"They'll grow in your belly," his mother warned.

He ate the whole apple anyway.
It was a waste
to throw seeds outside.
Exposed on the walkways,
they'd sun-scorch and wither.

His body would nurture them:
lungs filtering their air,
skin shielding them from torn skies.
He drank water for them and made his plans.

One day, when he was a man and his seedlings grown,
he'd run far from domes and smog and walkways,
he'd lay on the soil and let them take root.

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