eighteenth song

did my pencil

tell me about your shapes

of stretching your body?

letting me be your lover

touch you intimately

and kiss your face

let my tongue like

my cock

penetrate you

slide on you like a log

into the stream from

a wooded hillside

dive into your wetness

that drives my thighs

into clambering gyrations

my hands that grab your

bums

as you kneel down and

i take you from behind

in liquefying sensations

i feel you just now

at the end of my erotic

tour de la vie

as you guide me vehemently

into your cleaned sphincter

that takes a tight hold in

an intimate clasp

we cry into the storm of

our trembling fornication

fluttering in our hearts

we fall like poplar leaves

slow and gliding steadily

into our ‘little death’

so well

so oiled

so exquisitely performed..

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’02/’21.

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