The butterfly that sups upon this flower
Has reached the richest nectar ever found
The petals that protect this lady's bower
Are parted by his lips without a sound
His tongue explores the depths that she would hide
To tease such sweet reactions from within
She dreams that all of him would fit inside
It's time for rising passions to begin
The first time that she found her butterfly
He worshipped at this shrine to ancient lusts
Her other lips were parted by a sigh
She died a little death upon his thrusts
Each night her garden soil is finely tilled
While all her fantasies become fulfilled
Honorable winner
Adding your comment:
Love, Lane
