Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Warm bread

Oh! The opitome of exstacy thus be warm bread in olive oil and sweet herb.
Do frolic upon mine palate thine beloved yeast.
Mine tongue doth desire thee to perturb
The divinity from within which thee hath unleashed.

Go on about thineself and leave be!
For if thou hast not restraint as I hath not,
Intertwined shall we become as thee
Overtaketh mine sensibility and henceforth caught,

Upon which moment I am thine and thee are mine.
Drunkenness hast begot as mingled essence taketh toll
Hence thee hast become deep burgundy wine.
Forebearance doth show thy hast penetrated mine soul.

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