Insects once restless below the bark,
Now skit across the torn dress that hugs the sweet flesh of my honey,
Yes she’s tired and a little grubby,
But she’s my honey just the same.

My hands clench this the object of my desire,
Six legs stride to and fro escaping this murky mire,
Perspiration runs the length of her shirt,
While fluid fertilises this ever evolving tide of ****** consumption.

Her scent inhabits the soil,
She’s breaking down from corner to corner silently in alternating triangles.
Love is written here within the beauty of her frame.
Yes she’s tired and a little grubby but she’s my honey just the same.

She comes to me in dreams In dreams, in dreams.