A Taste

Once you have tasted milk and honey your buds are in a state of bliss. Your world has suddenly turned sunny, your lips remembering the kiss. The epithelium of these lips is made up of one kind of cell. And once they're primed by pleasure sips, their character comes out its shell. And like a homing pidgeon will attempt to fly to destinations that are familiar and instill the 'HONEY, I AM HOME' sensation. It is well known - if cut and pasted, you only need to click on SEND. Your efforts to undo are wasted, the cat is out the bag, my friend. Just take the wolf. A taste of blood... (s) he's hooked for life with no regrets. Wild pigs do wallow in the mud and tennis balls beseech the net. So, once we've known love's heady fragrance, have tasted it and let it linger, we simply cannot act like vagrants: Give me your hand with EVERY finger. Now night has fallen in the tundra, the silver fur reflects the moon. A solitary, silent wanderer keeps pushing on, it's morning soon. As trees dream of infinity, as moths must hurry to create a chemical affinity. And when they have it is too late. Our time is water past the weir. You'll never taste it after that. So let us grab it while we're here. How does one catch a pussycat?