By: F. Poussin 

Is it so wrong begging to follow
the path of the berry so tender,
so plump and so full of its nectar,
as she sinks her pearls in the flesh
delectable, so mysterious of many
savors, born in an explosion of senses,
for it is pleasure uncountable which
will come to life in many a tingle?

Every nibble, every mouthful,
her lips reddened in delight,
as her eyes close for a tighter feel;
and another gentle bite she takes
into a heart, delivered in servitude.