Oh, my little apple sweet hummingbird
the many ways I could eternally brand my memory
into your moistest of dreams.

The ways I could massage your soft thighs with my tongue,
and as a newly sprouting tulip bud
tenderly weaves through its young, enveloping petals
part your two, warm, wet butterscotch lips
and caress the depths of your most taboo desires.

I could ****** into you like a train
with gushing waves of carnal lust.
The flavor of exploding stars
rocketing from your honeypot
to the most love starved chambers
of your throbbing heart,

crashing the ideas of love and lust together
with such passionate force,
not even god could tell them apart.