The Figurine

I saw an ogling eye whispering at me We were at the anthill of a dried a night Like a duck in a thunderstorm I drawled before her wet lips She inserted her passion into my clay, dangling my balls I became a saint-sinner singing in the euphoria of her nipples I am an innocent globetrotter who throttle in the winds and whims of her imaginations Now am sucked and soaked at the sea of life High and dry because I fell head-long to her waist Chewing the cuds of delusions Being at the cross purpose with my very being A glance of her beauty is out of question Last night, I saw grass growing under her thigh In a twinkling, my pipe was like that of the Ethiopian Eunuch Well, her red lips fell of the mountain Blowing out the heat and the gush from the Nile Confining my element with her red clay Oceans of rumbling and tumbling escaping Emotions mixed in motions, tongue erupting With her powdery milk she dissected my Jupiter I became half gone, in a half day But her lull resuscitated me Guess who she is? She is Figurine.