she was the dance queen of the night
fragrant and exotic in her daily flight
from the bite of tropical night chills
under a starless sky and a pale moon
full of false vows that he would croon
with a granadilla fruit of raw passion
teasing his hungry eyes and keen nostrils
hot desire locked itself around their hearts
like a surreptitious granadilla creeper
entwining itself around a wooden lover
and soon the fruit of their passion had burst out
in a crescendo of dilated senses and smooth skin
she knew then that he was gone never to return:
the fabled passion fruit could be so very cloying