Abstract

Abstract erotica

I want to make love to you.

The kind that is forgotten by

the time the sun wakes up.

The kind that the moon will pry

upon to learn a trick or two to

fuck the sky .

The kind that does not happen

on the high rise bouncy bed.

But the kind that touches the

tresses of the roots that holds together the nerves of the earth and my body.

The kind that will make the wind go wild.

The kind that will make the rains salty.

Salt that drips between your legs.

The kind that will make the sand sore.

As sore as my inner thighs.

The kind that will turn tornadoes

into little tortillas.

I want to make love to you.

The kind that does not resemble Kamasutra.

But the kind Kamasutra was inspired by.

The kind that makes my shoulders go weak.

Weak from carrying your manhood all night.

The kind that makes my legs stronger.

Strong from balancing my womanhood

on your face.

I want to make love to you.

The kind that gets forgotten by the flies.

The kind that is remembered by the owls.

The kind that reeks of lust and passion.

The kind that pours like a waterfall in the middle of well built monogamous city.

The kind that fills the city up.

The kind that washes the city.

The kind that cleans the city.

The kind that polygamous dogs are proud of.

Baby, I want to make love to you.

The kind that humans aren’t used to.