There is a fruit that a woman longed to taste.
Usually dangling beneath a firm branch,
It feels soft, with its silken outer skin.
With tongue on the upper lip, she stared at it.

Dangling like a pair of cherries,
They are a beautiful pair.
She admires them with eyes wide,
Ready to lick the delectable site.

It hangs there in its naked glory,
So inviting, so enticing, irresistible.
She must partake, no time to wait,
Grazing her tongue across the skin.

A moan emanates from way above,
The branch an upward flick does give.
The Fruit now fills her mouth,
And lowers down for ease to lick.

Her eyes smiled so wide,
Attempting to devour the offering.
She feels drawn in closer,
With every sigh, she hears.

Is it the cool breeze from the window,
That it makes the branch flick faster?
She holds the branch in hand,
Caressing the fruit with her tongue.

She shifts her hand to better grip,
And hold the flagging branch.
With a little squeeze, the branch did flick,
The branch leaks a drop of sap.

Another squeeze, fruit in mouth,
She hears a guttural moan.
The branch firmly twitches,
Then emits a stream of sap.

~~

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