It is like the creator of all these stars
twinkling on a night with a full moon.
It is the pink petal promising pleasure
beyond the minds comprehension.
By nature I am instinctually drawn to it
like a bee to the flower
I think of it, see it, smell it,
But mostly repine for it
in deepest dreams.
My tumescence grows obdurate
and longs for the penetration.
The nectoring of the nectar.
To be between thick steamy thighs
I will sell my soul
at least for the moment..
But one way or another
I will praise the pussy
until it kills me.
or I become so old
I can’t remember my last name.
When memories of touching
plunging deep
tasting the promise of a moan
that lay trembling upon
a velvet body
When those memories
fade to a glaze of smoke
and it will not matter any more.
Until then I will praise
the pink folds
that drives my madness
to the edge of insanity.
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