THE BLACK MUSHROOM SAP
Muriel was the Poetry Historian
From the ancient subsolar city of Thermopoli
Who wrote the city's history in poetic rhyme
Had searched for eons of terrestrial time
Using an almost worn out ancient cloth map
In search of the rare black mushroom's sap
It was a race against the evil Monsieur Dégaleon
To find the elusive elixir
To discover the exclusive fixer
He is rewarded, despite fears
After searching for, light-years
He finds the elusive black mushroom
In the warmth of Mother Earth's womb
And carefully digs one out of the ground
Pulls it very slowly from its burial mound
Its bulbous top, bulging and round
So large in his palms, both hands surround
First a feast for his staring glazed eyes
Fixated on the highly praised prize
Alas! The search for the fixer is his to behold
The elusive black mushroom, a truffle like mold
His senses were keenly in attune
As he began to sway, drool and swoon
The pungent scent of funk went to his head
The poet was without words, from A to Zed
The musky odor had his nose, wide open
His equilibrium was subside and broken
Ariel, holding the black mushroom in his palm
Split it slowly with both thumbs, remaining calm
Until he saw a familiar lickerish pink that was inside
His eyes rolled way back when lewd Images, began to collide
From the pink slit
Oozed the black mushroom's sap
Savoring it slowly at first, he began to lap
Dipping his tongue and licking his lips
As the fungus sap flowed, he took bigger sips
Flooding his tongue with a funk so sweet
Nibbles of the fungus, he began to eat
Intoxicated, he saw music, and heard colors in his head
Thoughts of decadent things with a beautiful damsel in bed
Could not ever again compare to the black mushroom stead
For sucking the elixir, he is now forever in the trap
Of the elusive elixir of the rare, black mushroom's sap
© Isabella George
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