Good home cooking, the smell of pie
unmistakably makes her smile, pry
internally is he like that steaming crust?
She cuts open to inquire, is this puffed.
How well seasoned is he - can she be coerced?
To have a second taste, a second bite.
If I cleanse my palate, will I still be immersed?
Will I still have an unfilled appetite?
Will I have room for more, or can I diet-
and be forthright. If I'm right, I'll want more
oh, he's so hot; I'll need a fire hydrant
his home cooking, it's so good, I'll want more.
Good home cooking, the smell of pie
unmistakably makes her smile, pry
internally is he like that steaming crust?
She cuts open to inquire, is this puffed.
Is the meat chicken or tenderloin venison-
is it seasoned with rosemary and thyme?
When opened, will it be meaty full of gelatine-
rich-gravy, will he be her heavenly crime?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem