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A MID SUMMER NIGHTS DINNER DELIGHT
A Mid Summer Nights Dinner Delight
By RdotTornello© 2014
The Village idiot Press
Ci Anti John
Below recount I, eye to you,
about a dream ‘peers more than true.
My dinner drink’s sweet concoction
caused a slumber here I’ve fashioned.
Caring not about your vote, I
the truth herein, do invoke.
Witnessed the court yard, moon hung low
Sultry mists a webs blocked glow.
In herein I repeat my site
For all your enjoyments’ delight:
Holding hands, arms thin as twigs
Dance they both to the gods and begged,
“Keeps us free from bugs and like
while we enjoy our life’s delights.”
And all around does Granny Smith
Entwined in love Tomato Tom
And watching closely Ci Anti John
Who has a crush as any a grape and
Can fermented love in a bottle stand.
Granny and Tommy pies they make
Their love’s an oven both they bake
One for main with bread and cheese;
the other, an after dinner please.
Ci Anti John should play apart.
Fermented love just needs a start.
While those two dance about
their fires pyre, bubble, boil and shout.
So he to glass their lips provide
what the nose and tongue let slide
down the throat and in the mind
the dull affect of his drugged wine.
Granny Smith a solid core
and Tom Tomato a slushy bore,
to Ci Anti asked and cried
“Please leave us be, we cause no harm
We dance around the fire warm.
Cooked just right, a true delight,
sprinkle cheese on both of us
What could be wrong? We’re just desserts.”
Up on a plate they pirouette
Spin the dough and let it set.
And to Tommy’s sliced red sweet guts
a blanket of cheese this body thus.
And Granny, sliced in the pan she bakes
no longer dancing feet she makes.
And here too, a crust so fine and thin
above and below her sugared skin.
Ci Anti hearing none of this,
his drug-made-brain a harden’d mess,
into the oven both he threw
and slur said he “good dinner’s food.”
He promptly gobbled up the two.
A fart forced from Ci Anti’s hips.
A smile crossed his wine soaked lips
And another bite he did par take.
“In my belly they dance and shake,”
Awoke I in a salty sweat,
from my dream’s dream I did forsake
not believing that awe full take
I searched realities welcome bite,
and to my left and my relief
was my sweet hotty totty wife.
A smile wide with apple spice:
“I know you like the Granny Smith
cooked just tart and barely sliced.”
My totty wife, her bosom tight
her hips were bare ‘cept for light,
and upon whose body I did lay
all that evening danced this way.
Horizontal bopping is all I’ll state.
A gentleman should not relate
intimate details of pies and cake.
And with her love, I don’t forsake.
To end this tale of fruit and dance,
of dancing partners cooked, depanced,
taking bites of love pie here
and sliced bare apple over there,
while in between the best did lay,
dessert my friends? I will not say.
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