This is a poem of ***,
Simple in nature, I am writing about ***.
Facing the day filled,
I stroke your thighs in the womb
Of the day, we birth the dawn.
Full light comes to
Our bare bodies
Entangling light and dark.

This poem is about ***,
The profilic and harmonic presence
Of a thousand fingers probing
Each other, the kind of animalistic
Pleasure that brings together
The link of man the beast,
God, oh God,
The sensational foray into freedom
Of the body, into the wild!

Oh, sweet sin of heavenly pleasure,
The silent screams!

To the feast!