"uterine" poems
palace of lights caved
blooms through the body
like reality pitted against a comic book
not knowing where life came from
not knowing how it will end
food tubes or road ****
is creation substance-less?
24 carat nonsense,
or pure wisdom?
perhaps bad therapy
for lab animals
and store front dummies
monkeys shudder at needles
unless candied with a heroine syringe
chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria
pleasure before despair
and than a sea of pain
and a ****
impaling her
the lushly contoured female
a frictionless exchange of power
for ******* ecstatic death
as her eyes bob and flutter
like cascading echo's
my birth tarot card
**** of swords
her favorite when I push through her
like blood bubble gum
b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m
a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit
guttural diphthong
like a vipers castanets
uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb
her **** a zoo
c u n t z o o
i am peanuts worms and hay
her face a mask to hide behind
breath play
sibilant ****
specter or nightmares
shadows and villains aphrodiac
gagged and drugged
hot ***** bound
a big eyed ****
s l u t l o v e
*** cannibals turn me on
her ****** a goddess
a Russian roulette
for shtttty kisses
sploosh
she shot me
cuckoo spit
k o cuck k o k o o
twizzles willie milk
in a drowning
moss draped moon orifice
under a shattered zodiac
wrapped in tentacles of night
she turns me on
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
of my
dream
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
i am a fallen star
bornless, motherless
gripped in a wet black screaming tunnel
hiding in pulsing
slippery walls
all red uterine tears
afraid to come out of her
hiding under mothers dark dress
i am a soaking wound in her
descended soul
born of blood and seed
a skull under pressure
****** by gravity
swallowing mud
beaten with sticks
cold grips cotton swabs and cloth
held upside down
and spanked
now i eat the world
and it digests me
always praying from whence i came
to a lord on some far off parametric edge
a glittering kingdom
i am no thing
stunned thoughtless
to discover
that in ******
we are closest to God
more then flesh cries
when lost in its swoon
we are
all halos
as
fire flares up the spine
and lost in paradise
we are found
in beauties eclipse
all burning moons
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
I demand to make my choices.
We are here to raise our voices.
These irreversible changes are locking us in cages;
These are real, life-or-death issues.
This is no show, and these lives are no Broadway stages.
Let's talk about decisions;
Let's put aside biased visions.
Let’s talk about who makes these decisions;
I’m looking at you, old white dudes in boardrooms.
Last time you took a class in sex-ed,
Gatsby and Daisy were just about this close to being bride and groom.
Let's talk about consent;
Let's use this space to vent.
Let’s talk about who has the right to judge;
I’m looking at you, anti-abortion crusaders.
Feeling threatened by strong women and their placards and posters,
Like they’ve got pistols in their uterine holsters,
Like they’re all daughters of the dark forces of Darth Vader.
Why do we insist on going to war with each other?
More importantly,
Why does our ****** education,
The root of this problem,
The rotten core of this issue -
Why does our ****** education **** so much?
Why do we talk about choice for a woman instead of the choice of men to respect a woman in the first place?
Why are we still debating?
Grown men telling women to listen,
It's absolutely infuriating!
Let's fight for rights and quit the hating.
Women are resorting to desperate measures,
Whilst men walk away with fulfilled pleasures.
I adopt this tone gravely;
Women are jeopardising their safety, daily.
Is a living woman worth less than an unborn baby?
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
Matrilineality is the tracing of descent
through the female line corresponding
to a societal system in which each person
is identified with their matriline;
– their _mother's_ image –
and which can involve the inheritance
of property and/or titles. A matriline is
a line of descent from
a common female ancestor
to a descendant of either ***
in which the individuals in all intervening
generations are mothers –
in other words, a "mother line".
In matrilineal descent,
individuals belong to the same
group as their mother.
The matriline of historical nobility
was also called the _enatic_ or _Uterine_ ancestry;
From Middle English wombe, wambe,
from Old English womb, wamb
(“belly, stomach; bowels; heart; womb; hollow”),
from Proto-Germanic *wambō
(“belly, stomach, abdomen”),
from Proto-Indo-European *wamp- (“membrane (of bowels),
intestines, womb”). Cognate with Scots wam, wame (“womb”),
Dutch wam (“dewlap of beef; belly of a fish”),
German Wamme, Wampe (“paunch, belly”),
Danish vom (“belly, paunch, rumen”),
Swedish våmb (“belly, stomach, rumen”),
Norwegian vomb (“belly”), Icelandic vömb
(“belly, abdomen, stomach”), Old Welsh gumbelauc (“womb”),
Breton gwamm (“woman, wife”),
Sanskrit वपा (vapā́, “the skin or membrane
lining the intestines or parts of the viscera,
the caul or omentum”).
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
My brain is a factory,
producing every toxic part of me.
************ until my hand gets lazy,
fantasizing about Lexi Belle
and being Martin Scorsese.
My blood is a vacuum,
alone in a crowded room;
my white blood cells like to
travel to my *****
so I can someday infect
designer uterine walls.
Locked and loaded,
my heart exploded.
The tissue and issues
attracted crocodiles
that swam from the mall,
for miles and miles.
Store-bought baby, my body isn't ready,
to be stripped down to the bone,
and sold to teenage radios,
that'll broadcast my American moans.
Caucasian nightmare:
my skin is not fair.
Peel enough off with chemicals,
until I decide there's no more,
and hide the layers in bathroom stalls,
located in the bleach of Baltimore.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Both parents together, intimate we know,
Delivered the package that started your show.
Millions of visitors, with every shot,
Only one found its way, into the right spot.
Grow and divide, a zygote you be,
Doing it right, someday strong like a tree.
Living inside mom's uterine wall,
Totally dependent, make sure she won't fall.
Placenta forms encasing the egg,
If its a girl, her name will be Peg.
Umbilical cord forms from placenta to me,
A network of vessels carry nutrients to thee.
Things all in place, first trimester is done,
Growing and listening and having some fun!
Learning the sound of moms beating heart,
Already in the family, now playing your part.
Rhythmic and soothing, loving the sound,
Moms gentle voice, you will always be bound.
To answer her call, even late at night,
When her voice is silenced, its a terrible plight.
Amniotic fluid helps you float around,
Spot feels babies presence, you first here his sound.
The water has burst, head against bone,
Mom you ok? I'm hearing you grown.
Stop squeezing my head this is causing me pain!
What's up with this pushing, muscles spasm again.
Turn off the lights, this stimulation can wait,
Getting me warm, this feeling is great.
Hello there new person, I give you my heart,
Hi mother mine, hope we're never apart.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Following the path less traveled not
*** you must be frolecking Fool King
Energize Invigorate Assimilate Stimulate
Spermatozoon soldiers within veins burlesque uterine
De construct the artery leading the pineal gland
Conduct bypass surgery of the Amygdala Beast
Ache take over the Beat mind the creep off melting
His brain drained Kriss Kross naked leave faded in vain
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
seethe ~ bubble up as a result of being boiled,
<>
sunrise was 714 am in nyc
this perfect fall day,
chilled to perfection,
a white wine of a day,
so imbibe,
only later does it
heat up up and onwards
to the temp where the
walkers/joggers/runner recite
hallelujahs and hosannas while
moving at their own chosen pace,
in a state of warm southern comfort,
never a racing
lest
the poems
now seething, boiling-burning
bubbling up inside
into the atmosphere explode!
all of these
early warming~warning inspirations,
now~expressed,
realized flickers of
original ex-impressions,
cannot be contained in
an open field unsupported,
these
breech babies each,
in a pediatric ICU,
demanding an
instantaneous airy concoction
to Earth’s atmospheric
literary intoxication
they use:
up hard, a dice roll,
who lives
who wilts,
that docs cannot but
obey
the fetus’s insistence,
many instructions,
push pull breathe,
must the. be given forthwith
through to our
servile waiting
uterine fingertips,
for we human are just be
~ings,
nurturers of
verbal artifacts
that never die
in
an~always~at~the~ready,
in service to
the great conceptual,
poetic in/justice
Oct 23, 2024
Oct 23, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
I grew pregnant with my past,
unable to separate from the reality that began as a seed inside me.
Submerged in water, I tried to released you-
my past, my dear child...
but this bath of death,
flooded with the thick red of fluid despair,
held us closer together.
i want you,
twirling in my womb
under the moon at twilight
as i dance my way into whimsical decisions.
I feel you tap,
tap,
tap,
pry,
claw,
scratch
at the lining of my uterine wall.
i want you,
i do not.
Sentiment is blinding.
My dear child...
you are not good for me,
though I hold you with eternal warmth.
I am your mother, you are my past.
I open my eyes,
I’m back in the steam of my hazy bath
like an aquatic portal in the corner of comfort and suicide.
The red is gone... yet it was never there.
All that remains is my fetal past pulsing perfectly.
My stomach breaks the grey pond within porcelain,
pertruding through the patches of rose colored suds.
Closing my eyes never looked so dark, the blackest black
like my favorite dreams.
My head falls back and the red liquid returns,
hugging the crevices of my face,
filling my hollow orifices,
pulling my life far enough to look over me
and smile
with pursed lips and one crystal tear...
i am submerged,
yet all I hear are whispers in this bed made of water
singing me lullabies as I drift into a synthetic evening.
I am tucked in, dreaming of the lightest light in the darkest black.
The contrast helps me understand life’s cogs and screws.
i place my pruned fingers on my pregnant stomach,
my fragile past..
You will not leave me, so I must leave you.
My life’s gentle claws let me go
and bursts through the sun and clouds,
as gravity holds me close to his chest and kisses my cheek bones.
I see the light in the laughing stars,
I lay lifeless,
belly full of a dead past.
Goodbye,
my dear child.
Goodnight.
© 2016 D.M.V
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
i pull my eyeball out of my socket
or perhaps,
i remove my socket from my eyeball
the moon is howling
the wind is shining
i grin a grin of blood and ... joy?
eyeball in hand,
or was it the socket?
maybe it's the hand in my eyeball
either way
i take a step towards the water
i feel it lapping at my ankles
i lie down face first
the water breathes me in and
we float
in that uterine comfort we once knew
when I open my eye/socket/hand
i see that i am in a tank
the light refracts across the water
gliding
i worm my way to the base of the tank and i
push
my body is too heavy
i reach between my legs
and
pull out my guts
they slither away into the dark abyss
i close my eye/socket/hand
i sleep
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 7:24 AM UTC
Being made to remember,
held to signature upswells
in the depths of unmeaning.
How near, in truer
sense--beyond madness to
minister logic to an uncut
event, yet cut.
Pieced together in hope
of netting mortality, harboring
the breath of life as if a
resentment.
Willing what will not, being
made to remember--being
made to forget.
As soon drawn, as erased...
the fronting forefront.
Whose change has its own memory,
so perfect it's changeless.
Beingness cut front to back,
back to front...side to side,
top to bottom, bottom to top.
Uterine cave torch lighting
isolated events bound for
seas of sequence.
Mind's eyefuls of the whole in a
simultaneity of remembrance,
and forgetfulness.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
Fog-grey paint on wood…
Sentry!
Imprisons willing hostage…
Safe!
It jars - jams handle door to floor
Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit
The fawn as naked innocent born.
Cow mother forages for food…
To earn!
Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch.
Waiting to exhale.
Wolf pants foul -
turn handle -
entry permit?
On eves gone by wolf violates fawn.
Cow mother oblivious in her providing!
Crept in!
Kneeled!
As fawn feigned sleep…
Lupus leered, licked - abused like prey
This night young deer escapes the hunt
Lays quiet, tremulous.
Wets itself!
Chair holds!
Patriarchal coward creeps back to fetid lair
Brief reprieve?
Grow strong - pray another day!
©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
Boo!
One and one make two.
Coterie of magic made.
One on one create.
The rudiment of life.
Shown in embryonic form.
Implant.
Once protected against unwanted risk.
Removed.
Another wanted implant
Now implanted in the wall of life.
Once was mere ball of jell.
Definite form created.
Gesticulation unborn wave.
Still in uterine home.
Impregnable in warm and cosy world.
Glancing via ultrasonic image waving back.
Forty weeks or thereabouts.
Grand entrance made.
Visage of cutie.
Baby beauty.
Born at last.
Welcome to the world of life!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
Crimson droplets
from deep within
my femininity
whir and purr
into ripe, full spin
It is my time
for the moon
to glow at its
brightest
shine in its fullest
fervor as I
let myself
be relished by
Mother Earth,
reveling in my
woman spirit love
Holding my pen
as a sword,
I dance into
the dark forest,
arms raised
as if to get closer
to the stars
Yes
they are calling me
as creativity spills
from my fingers
into the atmosphere
my aura communicates
reverberates
mystical pulses
into the ether
and while pain creates
little uterine explosions
that bloat
and ache,
a power trips
through me
that cannot
be faked
mood swings,
cravings for
spice
and ***
sway my mind
like a sharp,
whitened hex
No point in
claiming inhumanity
for this
hormonal state
is like a bout
of temporary insanity
and with all of it
swirling round
and round
with all of the
attempts at
emotional restraint
in themselves
bound, I am
without complaint
for this is the ultimate
miracle of our bodies
the ripe potential
to procreate
(if we are so inclined or destined)
or just be
enfolded in who we are
we are part of
magnetic earthbeats
as we are part of
the bliss
of stars
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
calloused hearts and bleeding fingers
harmony only achieved by sacrifice
the pure must stain their porcelain shells
and the broken
will scatter the ashes
the springtime brings new birth
as the flowering genesis of uterine obsession
but black boots and harsh words
may destroy this new beginning
in life and death dichotomy
wandering nomadically through purgatory
searching for contentedness
and rejuvenating rebirth
only to find myself further imprinting
old footsteps
from past and present life
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Closed
Hiding behind uterine walls
confused and helpless.
Sight is for the blind
and then she spoke.
My breath was paralysed
I was an idiot with a pencil.
What a calamitous roar
if only I was deaf.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 3:13 PM UTC
Threading tapestries
the tethered sparrow
laments the absent scream.
Imbrued admissions
of his Oedipal anguish
clenched in callous fist
spills claret. Erubescent sobriquets
and uterine trauma
blot leaves, and the pale palour
first kissed, then rouged by rancour,
a blush rose
blooming faintly
in the shade of vitriol.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
*if you fill your pockets with stones
if i make a bed in my oven
if we fade into whispers
who will write for us?*
I.
your Blitz came in the form
of uterine invasion, tissue and blood
in ovarian prison camps,
red as the streets of London.
****** lives in the same apartment
with a beer gut and "paternal rights,"
sieg heil forced into your mouth
and you are too weak to fight.
You close your eyes.
*There has never been a door
to my bedroom,* you think.
Blood seeps from your thighs.
Every night, you sleep for so long
and waking up is agony:
what if-- what if i didn't have to wake up again--
once-verdant fields are dry,
dreams are dead,
and the stones feel smooth in your palms.
II.
My world is a bell jar, a chrysalis:
I beat my tiny fists against the glass
until they are bruised as midnight.
They cried his name, cried "suicide,"
speculated on prescription cocktails
as they tipped back wine and thought nothing
of the ones he left behind,
crying on the livingroom floor.
Life was taken from me then
and I have no power to grant it now--
I am Rachel, barren, empty,
in need of a Bilhah.
I was born to a trailer park mother
and a farm-bred father,
and I am proud of them both--
their secondhand flatware was better
than any silver spoon
but here in the land of the stars and stripes,
you cannot break your cocoon
you cannot spread your wings
unless someone pays to crack your shell.
I am stuck.
My oven is apartment-sized
and the kitchen has no door
but it is small enough
that it wouldn't take long.
III.
You and I have loved each other for years,
and the cruelty of distance has kept us
from touching each other.
Once, you said you hadn't given up
because we made a promise to each other,
and it hadn't yet been consummated.
Part of me never wants to kiss you,
if only to keep you breathing.
IV.
Or maybe--
after--
we could hold hands
and walk into the ocean
together.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
our second of two lasses conceived
sometimes within a blink
the exact moment auguring conception
difficult to identify or pinpoint
whence seminal liquid
********** from a ******* *****
birth of second daughter thyself and spouse created
while immersed in the ****** drink
generally occurred during
our naked lunch sans primal cop
yule la shun, via carousing with amorousness
when a seminal dollop
of passion circa May 1998 that pregnant verity
became definitive when the ultrasound
evinced a miniscule glop
pronounced by obstetrician and gynecologist
with an impending due date
yet unpredictable until the wife did evince
a swelling abdominal area, an ordinary fate
once pregnancy without doubt
ascertained both of felt great
lee excited at prospect thee eldest
would become “big” sister,
which less than total devoted attention
she would naturally hate
upon begetting youngest punim
indubitably saw her (Eden) irate
yet any jealousy temporarily deferred, offset
and thwarted upon the birth
of Shana, whose anniversary
she exited birth canal when a dearth
of being cocooned in the womb
suddenly necessitated adjusting to life on Earth
when formerly inducing
a bulge within the uterine hearth
and this papa nearly nineteen years
wept tears of joyful delight
with a complete set of anatomical features,
and gender as the girl found wife excite
head, cuz decision asper circumcision,
a moot point re difficult conscience fight
club and prediction as per average adult height
of female progeny, number two found the sight
a biologically whipped miracle I held tight.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
Today I woke up
and you were still in my bed.
Blue walls against purple hair
trying to force themselves
into being complimentary.
I don't understand how
"non-monogamy" works
but I've always hated contradictions
and the way I buy flowers just to watch them die.
I should've learned by now
that people fly away
and birds leave in the morning
and I can't keep losing myself
in the palms of another person
like I'm praying for a baptism
or a cup of coffee.
----
Sunday mornings should exist in the thesaurus
under chiaroscuro
or broken glass
or the shedding of the uterine lining, see:
"letting go of dead things".
When you left, you took your purple with you.
Brooklyn got off her knees and got on with the day.
I laid in bed and watched the pigeons on my windowsill
mistaking the blue walls for sky.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
In mammals, the female reproductive tract
of the elastic muscle of the ****** Men are matched.
Apart from the vaginal mouth,
it is covered with a membrane that is usually exercised
at a particular wedding. At the upper end,
the uterine protrudes into the ******
Assistant for ****** and vaginal delivery.
Channeled among men, the discharge appears in the blood,
& the monkeys' side have ***
However, research on the ****** especially
in animals and their letters,
size structure, and variable species: CaverNosa;
two in mammals common to women with vaginal
openings; treated reproductive tract of the urinary tract.
The mammals, that is, the male and the other thing,
which, for the most part, came to the door, seriously,
of one at the door of the urethra cm. Compared to the urethral
opening, the ****** is very large,
and protected and amphibian;
birds, open to humans, reptiles and monotrage.
gastrointestinal tracts,
openings of ***** drainage and reproduction up to extension.
****** *********** or other acts
and other human women
were ladies of vaginal infiltration
of the specific soft *** of vaginal palosana
in mammals. Moisture is provided
to reduce friction, & increase vaginal lubrication.
The opinion of the wall of weapons,
it drives that friction and it should
be almost six days
in which it would have created fertility, to whom.
The combination of pleasure
with other women, which may include the means for sexually transmitted infections, say discovering a rush
Throughout history, they have also included
vaginal reactions and strong societies
and negative perceptions of language,
culture and religion, female sexuality,
and their use for the mental life of the bath.
In the "trick", general inflation is used to describe a girl, in general.
The definition of the dictionary
for imaging purposes, but in the ******
refers to specific internal structures
and understands all the mysteries;
scientific and communicative,
supporting the reproductive health of women.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC