A white worm rests in the netting of

      our

hips. silk weaver weaving woven strands
loose strings. fray the forever faceless groan
enunciated in pleasure giddy writhing.

    little      goddess     you     are      like     a      song:

playing in the empty void to singe my cusp and draw
my stupid fingers to dumbly rumble over your ***.

a she so pearled sweaty
sensual nodes gleaming
dark. i take a measure of
your effortless laughter
and drink till my mind
bursts bubbling onto the
coffee tingle cold heat bridge
erected over the electric notch
of your fur stroke. do
                                            i
                                              do
         well

                                        by

        you?