Ambrosia

Surely to know the ambrosial quiver
Of stiffened fruit, ripe and swollen
With stolen fragrance and lovely flush
Of seeded solvent all down a furtive face
And up the greedy pink arms of cloudward reaching children

Is to know also the jealous rain
Her green glances gorge on mellow delight
Endulgant and impatient with quick eyes
Snatching strokes of waxy flesh
Torrid carress under an austere guise of gray
She is a lean and idle glutton
Who lashes in strife with quickness and lusty strikes

It will be a feast of soul
If you do not slay her first