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Av

ON THE FRINGES OF HER FLOWERS

How my lips long to live on the fringes of her flowers...in tender taste of timid skins in deep worship for hours.

To hear her kiss-conjured sighs become frantic cries as my lips surf softly on her hips as they thrust and rise to see her open like a mysterious and sea-born rose before my ravenous and awestruck eyes.

I spread her like an orchid born of blood-flushed pastels...crowned like a pulse-song pearl in a swell-velvet shell...like a flame-stained gemstone thats burning in Hell...

A flower-womb flesh wound that slowly bleeds and in desperate pleads for the sweet anesthesia of my tongue...

How i long to become thigh-crushed and juice gushed untily lips are numb.

Lips on lips sweetly fused...both beautifully abused...cream gush flood groove

As she shivers in lip-soothe panic-driven hips move... as i burrow in honey-soaked silk slow drown in ovarian-milk from drip-sugar cavities that whisper secrets in my mouth and pull me in like gravity beyond stretched and yawning cashmere gates savoring her in all the dark hours our passion creates.

My head hand-held to its doom in the halfmoon stabwounds carving love notes in my flesh, in plumb-souled ghost bruise, with the joy-drawn daggers of her nails pulling me deeper in her depths...i can feel it being born...sweet pelvic-storm...slippery and warm...as her insides are torn...i may drown in these waves, but these flowers are such beautiful graves I\'ve no desire to be saved...yes yes...my sweet love please kill me this way...if i ever see this day...when you are fragments that linger on my lips and my fingers and remnants of flavor that my i will remember and savor...like phantoms of your joy..that ill remember later