Saturday, 11 June 2016

Inflamed libidos


 Would every night be like this, she whispered

It will be, he responded.
Let your tresses breeze the trees
Let your eyes twinkle in the dark.
Let the crescent moon smile in your pout.

I see you arched in grace
The droplets in your belly,
The curves to your valley,
Milky it is all the way.
So lost am I
So dense is your sinuous journey.

Did the stars twinkle?
Have we finally found a meaning to our inflamed libidos?


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