With pears and peaches and melons thus stacked
With fair, cream and brown and such varied shades
How should I not be distracted and feel
As bees in an orchard in spring?
Unseen in crowds, my veins humming still
I steal a few glances and measure through my gaze
Shapes that'll birth my Madonna on tracks
In these our office-leaving times.
Count me not pervy and trust the dear chef
Who loves the new teasers with lipsmacking grace.