Golden rivulets flowing over milking *******,
my lips ******* on swollen pink *******,
moans emanating from one then the other,
farther down I kiss your silky middle,
my eyes are lost in a *****, brown mound.
I seek out magical miracles that bring you
to heights of unending ecstasy that let me
taste Beethoven's adagio composed for
you and me. The moon, you, and I provide
for all three of us a trilogy of love-making
as robins greet the morning sky.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS