i ate a plum today
the deep purple hue
and melting red juice
dribbled over my chin
it wasnt quite ripe
and this is how my poem begins
you arent really my type
standing all akin
mind all a luce
but im drawn to you
what might the knights forsay?
when they see me run
for fun
into your arms
might their ears shriek in alarm?

i ate a plum yesterday
might it have been ripe this day?
leaving my mouth dry and bitter
i would like another bite
my poem is not over
men do not think me polite
i cause their knees to jitter
and this is what the knights forsay
when i ran to your arms that day

"he is a reminder, that looks deceive, a ripe plum is not ripe at all, the act is clear, shouldnt the juice be sweet? shouldnt the corners of your mouth lay sticky? you are instead left bitter, running to an unsavory fruit that longs for your tongue. you do not eat unripe fruit, you throw it aside. this fruit will quake and die quietly where you have left it... do not be a fruit fly, they crave lifeless desperate sweets."