The haiku poet
Searches the supermarket
For food and haiku.

Opportunistic
Girl scouts sell cookies: stoners
Pay with arms and legs.

Healthy fat apples,
Dressed in delicious colors,
Shout for attention.

A carton of milk
With streaks of white crust drooling
Down from its capped hole.

There once was a man from Mauritius
Whose canine was toothy and vicious:
     It once bit the hand
     That was feeding it, and
It considered the flavor delicious.

There once was a man from Zumbrota
Who'd **** down a 2-liter soda,
     Then burp up a symphony
     By Beethoven winsomely,
From the first bar to the end of the coda.

There once was a guru of Ind
Who fasted and fasted and thinned.
     They offered him Gogurt:
     He said, "That's not yogurt!"
And broke—in disgustedness—wind.

There once was a man from Montana
Whose favoritest butter was canna:
     He'd spread it on hotcakes
     (Which made of them potcakes),
Then go play a sloppy piana.

There once was a farmer from Cork
Who fell on a frumious fork.
     It punctured the ***
     Where he kept his bad gas
Made mostly from cabbage and pork.

In the summer,
everything is ripe
The white peaches perfume the air
In my hand, their fuzz
like the vellus hair
Around your neck

It’s winter now
And the fruit has shrunken
The flesh has grown leathery
The sugars concentrated
I put one in my mouth
And felt your hardened ******* on my tongue

Tip Tap Tip Tap Tip Tap Buzz Buzz Ring
Dancing light filters through the balcony
Drifting through the choppy air twirling
Another leaf drops onto the concrete
Brought by the feather of a small bird
Chirp Chirp Chirp follows a telegram’s
Stringing words racing to the finish line
To grow beside you nurturing the mind
Then your stomach by a thousand leaves
Eat the love you poured into the ground
Watching it blossom into a giver of life
Now returned is your efforts multi-fold

I don't think I'll have an appetite for tomorrow babe,
You just make me hungrier than lunch.

When you kiss me I sip on your divine wine,
When you hug me I burn up in fires of my desires.

So I just have a wee little hunch,
I'll be more interested in your menu, than picking at my food.