Trifle

Purporting
like an earth,
a berth of gash
and gush comes
from the honey-pear.
Spins its pale sphere
of crunch with mellow
emerald touch, a chew
as soluble as air. Its
sweet commerce flows.
Its citizens are tastes.
Supple as a waiting
mouth is hollow. And
then a form of lick. A
glaze of shine upon
the lip. With thoughts
of pears to follow.