Rated for Mature


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These Homosapiens Do This

In the innocence of bare thighs
And candle scents and pleasing breasts
And dark long black hair, and black tights
That roll off, olive-yellow skin
And golden ankles down to your soul

And a womb that gazes for warmth
Is a renaissance of delicious hands
That please in pink panting parting

The please master pouting of looking into eyes
And seduction with need and kneeling
And flowers that lift but do not turn away
Their flicking moist buds for youth at play
In the master strokes of kindness on flesh

I feel the comfort of a thousand generations
The games evolution plays in our brain
And the animal in us, moist and thick

And the beauty of a mouth or a whimper moan
And the urgency of taste, and the clutch
Of golden feast, and the fragrance of need
And the sound of a muffled whisper affirmation
And pleasing down to the bottom of the eyes

Where the heart is a pulsating joining mound
Of clitoral tremors and soothing trembling.