Among the fleshy mountains
I curb that meaty ache,
A host of newborn fountains
Gushing crimson in my wake.

Along a spongy roast of rump
I walk a footpath of sinew,
Between the spurs in beefy clumps
Are the tenderest to chew.

Under a sanguine sun and a marbled moon
I roam about and eat,
Until one day, amid scarlet dunes
I spy a peculiar piece of meat.

It was crunchy and chewy in the teeth
With a weird white coating withal,
And it had a red sauce underneath
That wasn’t like blood at all.

I ate the thing, every slice,
And continued on my way,
But often since, will naught suffice,
And I hearken back to that cheesy day.