Though I wrench you off your tree,
‘least I get to feel your flesh…?
No, that’s not the way to treat
sauce that grows right off the stem.
Itch my nose with pepper smells,
spread your veins all over me.
I need sap mo’ than all elms
—I’m the 1 who’s looking green.
Rain just gives you free refreshments,
zephyrs make you dance so festive
—tastes will linger like a fresh mint.
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