This is a treat of tastes.
In that these evergreen shoots,
These gross fruits of the finger,
That have been visited, fidgited and shuffled,
That have been throbbed over multi-plus times.
Finally, are compacted and intact.
They are all over and are out.
And for which or what, I have suffered.
And am become Opus of their tricks,
The devoured winery fool.
As it is, with the fabled, blind Coopers’ triumph.
I now open an oval shell to the World.
I trickle down within my unfortunate fumbles,
Completing one tank at a time.