James R. Muri
Copyright 1998

O perfect fruit
upon thy vine
How newly
ripen'd thee
How sweet a luscious
Gluttony would be

O fresh thou art
as see we all
Thee shan't
thy nectar waste
If into my hands
thee fall
Intact but
ready grac'd

O sweetest dew
'ere tempt' my lips
Let not me
turn to dust
Thy vessel begs
my passion'd sips
Deny thee not
my lust

O honey-blushed thy
siren's flesh
Evoketh raw
Open now thee
to my wish
And quench this
gourmet's fire.

Home | Stories | Poetry
Mail the Blizzard Guy your thoughts