Name: Anonymous 2014-04-20 1:11
Dark and wrinkled like a deep pink,
It breathes, humbly nestled among the moss
Still wet with love that follows the gentle
Descent of the white buttocks to the edge of its border.
Filaments like tears of milk
Have wept under the cruel wind pushing them back
Over small clots of reddish marl,
And there lose themselves where the slope called them.
In my dream my mouth was often placed on its opening;
My soul jealous of the physical coitus,
Made of its fawny tear-bottle and its nest of sobs.
It is the fainting olive and the cajoling flute,
The tube from which the heavenly praline descends,
A feminine Canaan enclosed in moisture.
It breathes, humbly nestled among the moss
Still wet with love that follows the gentle
Descent of the white buttocks to the edge of its border.
Filaments like tears of milk
Have wept under the cruel wind pushing them back
Over small clots of reddish marl,
And there lose themselves where the slope called them.
In my dream my mouth was often placed on its opening;
My soul jealous of the physical coitus,
Made of its fawny tear-bottle and its nest of sobs.
It is the fainting olive and the cajoling flute,
The tube from which the heavenly praline descends,
A feminine Canaan enclosed in moisture.