the walls
were white
and cold.
it's time for the
ocean sky to
gyrate its way to
crimson sunset.
she and he
were standing,
gazing at the
clueless crowd.
suddenly,
he began to
move and
touch her
velvet lips,
up & down,
all around.
there they went,
wilder than the
rush of the
screeching cars.
he asked for
her permission
for the stairs to be
less leveled,
less balanced,
surely torrid,
surely sultry.
as they went
with the
stairs not leveled,
lips but velvet
and still tangled,
necks' just clammy,
and their
way's so classy,
she lifted her
right limb
and twist it to
his left part,
she was
insensible.
the second time,
he responded
and grabbed her
right limb
towards his.
the time was too
rapid, too
swift.
he held her tight,
his hands
from her nape,
to her neck,
to her shoulders,
to her back,
down to her
waist
as she awaits
and made her chase
from the levels
of both's
wavering stairs.
everything ends
with a sweet
and light
touch of their
velvet lips.
the flower bloomed
never late,
never doomed.
the flower was
indeed,
hyacinth still,
but something
worth of
a pink carnation.