The Freeze-dried Tale
His heart is like a freeze-dried cherry in
A box of cereal for lovers to
Devour, as accidentally in sin
Between the sheets, as casually they chew
Him, breakfast in his bed. He nourishes
Their greediness for cherry-ness in flesh.
For him their diet never flourishes
As juicy red. The sex is always fresh
But not quite right. It fills them well with what
They want the way a snack staves off the need
For proper food, in much they way that smut
Helps lonely masturbation’s lurching shot of seed.
But then they never stay for breakfast with
Him. This presents the truth of free love’s myth.