Mars and Venus by Sydney Harold Meteyard
Honeysuckle blooms and between my teeth, I tease it like nipples on a lover's chest, so sweet though milk is long gone. Salt and sweet the breast, my tongue flits amongst love's sweat. Her skin fluid as Chinese silk. Her juices flow; the ripest mango slit submits as tears fill the hollow of her throat. None are her ilk, but I, Mars, know She who has rises from the foam. Worship her who causes worlds to writhe and moan.
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