To H.C.
Cross your legs over my shoulder,
Thy devil scent I will follow.
To part the delicate fold there,
The orchid that lies in shallow.
Let it quiver upon my tongue,
Be it's nectar sweet and sour.
Upon thy breast, songs will be sung.
During this, our sacred hour.
Clench your fingers tight between mine,
Swollen and flush, when you are done.
I'll watch you bloom and humbly pine,
Without each other, there is none.
So much to say, lest I begin,
Your soul and mine forever kin.
the steppenwolf – Sun, 2007 – 04 – 15 21:15



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