Down To The Last Drip Poem by RIC BASTASA

Flings are like
mushrooms that come only
once a year and
matching it with
thunder,

flings happen because
someone has become
too irresistibly
enticing

you wish you do not
like it you wish nothing
happens

oh. like the mushrooms
flings you harvest
a delicacy and cook it
yourself and then
eat with relish what the
other wants to refuse

but you are equally
irresistible and when
these two forces meet
they clash on whatever

they finish it off
down to the last drip