Even before he takes the first sharp bite
He knows the pit is there, hard and rough
And bitter as everybody knows who ever
Bit one open to taste. But just the sight
Of fullness newly ripe is not enough --
Oh, no -- the sweet and tart he thinks will never
Not combine to slide across his tongue
And ache its root must slide and ache anew;
Experience is never just the view.
And then, the moment gone, he’s left among
Those fleeting flavors fading, fading, gone –
Until another, like tomorrow’s dawn,
Her firmness gently curved and fully flexed,
Surrenders to perfection being next.
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.
Last edited by Marcus Bales : 06-12-2007 at 11:13 AM.