You’ll find him here!
You’ll find him there!
In the fruit bowl of life,
making enormous gestures with his wings (not with his wife)
Trying to bring on the inevitable edible – ility
of teeth sinking and sucking juice
from his private thingamy.
Crunch, crunch, slurp,
down to the core,
the Angel Pear prefers you to eat him carrot raw,
as poached takes effort
and the death is slow,
even though Grand Marnier
would be a great way to go
But the Angel Pear is virtuous,
he knows his angel purpious,
to gaze at you with plump green skin
and imagine his angel self
dribbling down your ample chinny chin.
Farewell my Angel dear,
you were indeed too ripe.
After I consumed your angelic self
I used a baby wipe.
To be continued…