Its in the flesh,
deep in the gut.
Its like an unending drive.
Lust, it is lexically called.
A sweet experience
like a rosemary flower.

Its so right there
in its tight rare.
Hungry lions
and angry turn-ons
commanding its blooded engine.

So short a time
is the time of this thing
as it over-uses
and declines the pleasure in this thing.

An important impatience
is its true self
as well as its coated serpent's tongue.
Habitual wild chunking
occupying this tasteless penance.