Quiverishly carrying my dish,
you took me to the table where you'd fork me.

But tabby-tripping,
you lost our balance,
dropped me, pulped me
in a glass-glittering linoleum break.

You'd never know my delectability,
my deliciousness, forever gone.
Wishing you would've had me in the orchard,
you were left with a moistened
mouth wondering of my sweetness,
left alone to mopped our mess,
knowing possession is only a myth.