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My Flowering Crab Tree

You submitted to my assignation.
I’m not worthy to pare your name.
The sensation of your creation
belongs to that Holy Dame.

I barked at you on the first night.
Two apples appeared in your hair.
One was red the other white.
I bit hole sum and seized a pare.

Maybe it was unconscious.
You sat back as I passed.
Your insides looked so luscious.
I cracked open and you bit back.

Now there was a third apple
crabby as can be
turning into a maple.
Sort of syrupy.

Naturally we had sympathy
I barked her to the back of that bed.
She farted leaving tactfully.
I wished her petrified but not dead.

For it’s sort of kind of unstable
to have intercourse with trees.
Cuz the power of words enable
all sorts of things to please.

Published in Poetry