My body's a ruin, a temple condemned
to spend its lonely life waiting for you to attend.
To wander so slowly down the ***** of my neck
and linger a while in the arch of my breast,
where a fountain is standing that has always run dry
but it looks so inviting, you just have to try
so you raise your parched lips to the fount for a taste
before traveling on to the dip of my waist.
Past the brow of my hip, to the hinge of my thigh
where a river is flowing that pulls you into its tide,
and in its warm waters you find resolution
then go down to the temple to receive absolution.