She opens like dusk light—
her canyon carved with reverence
her thighs—two ancient cliffs
parted by time and quiet wonder.
Her lush ravine filled with secrets
no map would dare trace—
a path worn from sensual beckonings.

There—
where her shadows deepen
her river stirs—not with rush
but with knowing passion—
flowing in moistened mist
beneath skin and stone.

My hungry mouth—
a tide drawn to her gravity
a wave moving forward
not to conquer but to listen
to moans born of her shivering depths.

She receives me—
my tongue moves as a whisper of water
making her tremble, like new earth
her flood rising not in surrender
but in song—wild water carry.

And when she overflows—
not destruction— not a claim
but a promise as rain does the dry earth—
the sacred plain remembering her thirst.

And I—
swallowed in her rise
am no longer shore but only sea
to remember her sacred collapse.