Ode to Fruit (or someone with fish-lips)

With a mouth like that you can only clench,

‎‏affix your teeth to my ribs.

‎‏From your occipital; sprouts lush, blench

‎‏willows bloom rich, sage, Sierra Figs.

‎‏Dissonance lies behind his glassing eyes.

‎‏Agronomists permeate peas throughout my pod.

‎‏As my propagating ego shies,

‎‏you'll see you've gutted Cod.

‎‏Now, not one wench shall endure your sour stench,

‎‏your young seedling is full of pips.

‎‏Do you know her pain, can't you see she seeps?

‎‏Acidic tear drops dissolve her pulp as her cloudy juice bleeds to blood.

Comments 0