That odor’s Sweet Imperial, ah yes.
With velvet skin ethereal, undress
that Tennessee ripe Truffle, peel and lull
that boiling onion. Husk that summer bulb.
It’s grilled, sautéed, with stalks exposed, oh my.
Such bunching onion Cippolini thigh,
those Spanish, Chinese, Bermuda scents
sliced raw in ringlets’ guttural suspense;
I’ll tolerate such talk, but oh, oh yes.
If I go on I surely will transgress
into a state of Pearlish readiness,
Vidalia observing me Granex!
[This message has been edited by zbaby (edited August 29, 2002).]
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