you've got all the fruit,
And I sense it almost
everywhere you go...
The Pink dark white
bright red- often purplishicious,
It makes me think of new ways
to chart inner territories,
Banging my head against
the hardest of poets tables,
Yes, you are abundant,
riddled with heavy moist
snakes around your
neck and breasts,
And I am Adam's other rib,
spare, barbecue flavour,
why don't you try some...
And afflicted, fingers should persist!
Of a rare specie that knocked
me for a six!
You've got fruit hanging
from the balcony now,
And I am dancing like a tattered
old bear, for you and you only...
And that man is not so remote,
as the smoke that belches,
envelopes the skies of his entire mind,
until he does the obvious,
and falls! falls! falls!
Completely out of it,
like a rash running wild...
A power overtaken...
Fruit - you are now at me!
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