BY CAROLE NICHOLS
Sticky fingers, covered and sweet
With the juices of such wonderful things;
Inhale the scent of the warm, ripe fruit,
Recall the image and memory it brings.
How filling was that wet repast;
How tempting it was to the mind;
How the nectar kissed the nose and chin;
As you took from it all you could find.
A sigh escapes as now, replete,
The aromatic texture still lingers
Then the taste buds on the tongue explode
As you lick clean those sticky fingers.
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