I met her on the way to the yard,
Her face blinded me,
It was radiant and full of life.
Her eyes spoke of innocence,
And revealed the beauty she held.
Her flat stomach slept with stillness
Underlying in her dazzling blouse,
Her surging breasts pushed forward with vigor.
The tight trouser uncovered the manifestation,
of her discoid and full of vim posteriors,
They shoved each other alternately,
Inducing a rhythm on her move.
My eyes coerced through the crowd,
As I watched her vanish.
I swallowed spittle of desire,
And trod away with my hands on my chin.
I saw her again,
Heading to the similar yard.
I followed her in a dilatory,
With my heart carried in my hand,
Ready to hand it to her on our meet.
I saw her enter the yard,
And make it to the ancient vine,
A vine with a swollen stomach,
And a distended impudence.
I threw my flogged heart on the ground,
And formed a drastic antagonism with the antiquated vine.
I swore never to meet her.
I bumped into her,
And argued with my eyes on the scene,
The radiant face was dull and wrinkled,
It was flat and obscure.
Her lively eyes were dead,
And the planar stomach inflated,
It was protruding with compulsion.
Her sturdy and rhythmic posteriors frail and punctured,
And her surging breasts slackened and tilted.
She had consumed the grape,
A grape from an elderly vine,
It was a sweet but venomous grape.
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