poem: if ever i were pizza tree

if ever were i pizza tree

i would have more time 

but saucy blooms are empty tombs 

i wither on the vine;

my basil leaf-ed greenery 

shall round my dough entwine 

but cheesy crust, forbidden lust

to dripping rotting vine;

but pizza lives as pizza does

sweet as age-ed wine 

deep repose, i decompose

til nothing’s left but vine.