Cherry, by Gene Baro

She said, ‘Now give me flesh to eat,
Flesh of the cherry, dark and sweet.
Bring me a singing bird—the pale
Moonlight, the attending nightingale.

'A languishing poet too?’ I said,
Kneeling beside our tumbled bed,
‘a poet wan, whose young desire
Renews just verses with its fire?’

‘Bad dearest, must you tease and tease?
Leave him to rhyming, if you please.’
She smiled. ‘Come, give me flesh to eat,
Flesh of the cherry, dark and sweet.’