I don’t wish to be the candied apple of your eye,
It’s too high a pedestal for your affections to climb.
Instead, carve my nose with the tips of your fingers,
Shape my eyes with a gaze that lingers.
You can trace the scars and ridges of my shell,
As long you’ll have me, I’ll sit under your porch bell.
Wearing nothing but my widest grin,
I’ll be your pumpkin.
– Irnin Khan