my nose, it tickles,
with a sickly strange sense,
as though being prodded
by an invisible pineapple skin
(except one in a week old bin).
i wretch, and i gag:
i am not one for sweet musks;
especially an intrusion by what seems to be
a pineapple fart.
*for sheepwithasword's anon, who made a strange request*
i’ll kiss you with my cherry stained lips,
you’ll taste the sweet nectar slip into your mouth.
"mmm, you taste like cherries", you’ll say,
and i will reply, “oh, but i am so much sweeter”.
you’ll watch me saunter provocatively away
as i leave you craving your new favourite fruit.
Day 5- Write a three line poem about lemons without using the following words: lemon, yellow, round, fruit, citrus, tart, juicy, peel, and sour.
you’re but a titbit of clichéd advice,
in the face of uncertainty, to make one feel wise -
but to me, you simply taste like an ill-forgotten lie.