Query any poem you want.

the box is open on the table

as they enter.

their hands reach out eagerly,

seeking a morsel of its hidden pleasures.

they approach ravenously,

gorging upon their own greed;

yet the box remains still.

the room is quiet,

the air is pure.

the box is open,

the box is aware.

a shallow beat provides subtle music,

though they appear not to notice –

a red delicious harvest.

their hands soaked with fruitful juice,

licking their fingers in triumph

over their hearty meal,

the box is empty on the table

as they exit –

finally satisfied.