sometimes i slip away from her as she reaches for the green grapes
her stomach grumbles as lips purse around sour sucklings
she cant possibly communicate and masticate at once.
hordes of decorated humans speak aloud about
the weather
and the traffic
a careless hard-boiled egg toss of phrases;
what a shame, all this rain
she has no idea that she has no ideas
sated bellies settle after the hors'derves (sp?)
i apologize to her
we cheers with glass after glass of fermented reds
we nibble on grape after grape from the fresh fruit plate
until finally the feast of words ensues,
she is full of me
and filling you.
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