Ambrosia

Surely to know the ambrosial quiver Of stiffened fruit, ripe and swollen With stolen fragrance and lovely flush Of seeded solvent all down a furtive face And up the greedy pink arms of cloud-ward reaching children Is to know also the jealous rain Her green glances gorge on mellow delight Indulgent and impatient with quick eyes Snatching strokes of waxy flesh Torrid caress under an austere guise of gray She is a lean and idle glutton Who lashes in strife with quickness and lusty strikes It will be a feast of soul If you do not slay her first