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ryan-patrick-walshPoems
My stomach's wallet breaks the pocket's seam. I eat what I see, I can't help with tasting everything. The grapes and the burgers, the peanuts and bananas. I'm consuming as the wild beast does; the vine grows empty and I will growl, moving on to the next new field. But the cheeses here are magnificent, I'll keep coming back for just another slice of it. These warm chocolate drippings on mountains of cold cream melt into gooey cookie crust; Me and my flag stand ready for the adventure right up and back down the mudslide. But my buds are changing in a strange wind and I am the wild dancer in this hurricane. The strawberries are dipping into whipped cream until the bowl grows empty, refilling it with oats and milk. My tongue lives forever in this moment, leaping this way and that, the day's cheetah is fast for its slab of chewy beef jerky and afterward, the night's panther is face forward in the wild fruits. I pray for the day this dessert morsel is the last, but alas, my hunger ravages like a princess for her pony. The king will no longer resist her screams for another stable and I will ride this black mare forever.
0
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
Sweet Tooth
My stomach's wallet breaks the pocket's seam. I eat what I see, I can't help with tasting everything. The grapes and the burgers, the peanuts and bananas. I'm consuming as the wild beast does; the vine grows empty and I will growl, moving on to the next new field. But the cheeses here are magnificent, I'll keep coming back for just another slice of it. These warm chocolate drippings on mountains of cold cream melt into gooey cookie crust; Me and my flag stand ready for the adventure right up and back down the mudslide. But my buds are changing in a strange wind and I am the wild dancer in this hurricane. The strawberries are dipping into whipped cream until the bowl grows empty, refilling it with oats and milk. My tongue lives forever in this moment, leaping this way and that, the day's cheetah is fast for its slab of chewy beef jerky and afterward, the night's panther is face forward in the wild fruits. I pray for the day this dessert morsel is the last, but alas, my hunger ravages like a princess for her pony. The king will no longer resist her screams for another stable and I will ride this black mare forever.
Written by
ryan-patrick-walsh
Irish
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
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