Culture Of Love Poem by Ima Ryma

We sat together on a shelf.
He was surely one well built chunk.
Blushing, I could not help myself,
But take a long whiff of this hunk.
I knew it was a cheesy whim,
But wondered if I was his type.
Suddenly, fingers poked at him.
Shoppers ever cause me to gripe.
But then again we were alone,
Two packages of blue and white,
In an erotic dairy zone,
And he whispered to my delight,

'As chunks of bleu cheese love to do, '
'I just want to grow mold with you.'