many flowers, only one blossom...
the singularity
of it
even a king does not
ride the same mare
twice
each particular
and unique
each time a new
first time
whomever the
writhing body
beneath
whether upon
the car hood
or cemetery grass
behind a dumpster
or in a bed even
one's red ****
explodes
disturbed
only by a
ceiling fan
another clutches
screams and howls
out an aria
a third comes
silently with
giant moon eyes
tenderness
of thighs
and the
sweet wet
mystery
between
none admit
comparison or
nostalgia
each one complete
and unique
satisfaction is
not a number
whether one
or a hundred
even a king cannot
mount the same mare
twice
each woman
always singular
not one
ever twice.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
many flowers, only one blossom...
the singularity
of it
even a king does not
ride the same mare
twice
each particular
and unique
each time a new
first time
whomever the
writhing body
beneath
whether upon
the car hood
or cemetery grass
behind a dumpster
or in a bed even
one's red ****
explodes
disturbed
only by a
ceiling fan
another clutches
screams and howls
out an aria
a third comes
silently with
giant moon eyes
tenderness
of thighs
and the
sweet wet
mystery
between
none admit
comparison or
nostalgia
each one complete
and unique
satisfaction is
not a number
whether one
or a hundred
even a king cannot
mount the same mare
twice
each woman
always singular
not one
ever twice.
