I love you.
Your hands are damp with me.
My hands score into your salty back.
You say I'm voluptuous.
My breasts lay, sensitive
To your tongue,
Circumferencing hard pinkness.
I say you are complex.
Rough palms and soft, hungry belly
With your own form of delicate,
hard pinkness.
Our stripped, perspiring forms
Naked flesh, searing eachother
Your taut, stretched legs,
My trembling fingers fly on you.
To be concealed,
To feel you are healed,
In the arms of your half-soul.
I love you.
Tranced, fixed on taking me
To where? To the highest vantage
And lowest of sins.
I feel disembodied.
I look down at you on me
You in me
You moving out
And in again.
In that high I am screaming
You are merciless; I am peirced.
You moan,
A low wail,
Holy Hell.
You remain inside,
As long as I can keep you there.
Your warm white fire-love;
Rivers into an empty womb.
You'll remain inside.
Oh, I look at you now,
I, your fucked-woman
You, my coarse lover,
And you kiss me.
Not a heavy, hungry suckle-
An airy, content lick
On my closed eyelids.
I love you.
And you love me, too.
Reason for writing:
I guess this poem sort of stands for everything I dream about
and want. Funny, I'm still a vigrin.
Birth sign: Pisces
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