Sounding the Wet Walls of Propaganda


First tell me your secret wish
How your lashes burn on my skin
Your little hands tab my dynamic points
Like circular chiropractic motions

I ask you where you want to go
You tell me with a naked sigh
You want the journey of the flesh
The progress of lust to the twenty-first century

First tell me your secret spot
Where orgasm plays a propaganda
Of feminine charm so covert
You make me smile through my teeth

As I advance upon your instance
And you open up like a cherry religion
Of softness, melted heat and little extravagance
You beg me now, we’ve been here before.