Those fine ripe melons
They look so nice and firm,
As I sit here and squirm.
My thoughts twist and burn,
With little else I’m concerned.
The heat is stifling and consuming,
Those fine ripe melons looming.
Mouth watering, I’m swooning,
Drooling on them! I start crooning.
Skin is smooth as baby’s bottom,
Succulent and sweet; an ill gotten.
Often missed but not forgotten,
What I did was really quite rotten.
They did not belong to me,
So I took them, and began to flee
I’m a cad with no scruples you see
I cannot abandon you in the vendor’s cart
Tightly holding! With you, I cannot part.
As through the crowd I dart
Longing to feed: on your bleeding heart.
Comments about this poem (Those fine ripe melons by Derrick Fernie )
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