by Nick Gisburne
I feed in all dimensions, but my thirst
Is driven by the blood of humankind.
The shivering, delivered as they burst,
Directs a deep eruption to the mind.
Their elders, often difficult to peel,
Are bitter, with an aromatic twist.
Exceptional to serve with any meal,
I find them quite a challenge to resist.
I squeeze, and smile to see the screamer split,
Disposing of the bones and empty flesh.
If ever there was Heaven, this is it,
A smorgasbord of flavours, full and fresh.
While other worlds delight me with their meat,
A bowl of human blood is hard to beat.
