|
| |
High Way Adventure
Poets : Paciolo Pen Saint Ft Empress
Paciolo:
Gently - warmly
Let your thighs caress secretly under my shelter
A long creep into the flight of my mood
Empress:
I'll knee before thy lord
For all praises and adoration in styles
Bend before thy lord
Covered in trousers
Paciolo:
What should I say if your fingers are resting their teeth
Stroking lightly my rod
Won't My Moses be stripped off holiness by the sea?
& His offsprings surrender when their savior is bloated by the tip of your tongue.
Empress:
Scold my pink sea with your rod
Whip me - Smack me
& Toss me the daily bread in different pattern
For the famished soul
Has lost it strength to pull trousers
Paciolo:
After that:
Let me pull the garment off your body
Until what seems to disappear from me is revealed like a breathing chapter
About the protuberance what God created
About what's between the thighs is something I can not describe
Empress:
Lie like a warrior,
Who has sacrificed all his strength for a war,
Then I will make a path with my tongue,
From the east of your body to the west,
Ride you like bicycle,
From North to South,
Make the night howl the praise of a lavi da loca.
Paciolo:
I'm stirred by the longings
I'll surround you with my left hand
& You'll fall in fluffiness
Pull you with my right hand towards me
Rub your shore with the tip of my rod
& Your dumb bosoms will tickle in fold of it
I'll let the pleasure suck our hearts
Empress:
The pleasure will suck our heart,
Like bedbugs suck bloods,
When the chief guard give you way to the kingdom,
Spread the hot creamy butter on it,
& My mourn will penetrate into your ears,
So the tired king rise again
Paciolo:
I'll cook you a delicious stab
& You'll taste the grief
The bed will creak & we'll be anxious
When our joints weaken
& We both get what we hope for
I'll keep my head in your arms - kiss them
Wrap my legs around your wet thighs
We relax - fall asleep in trance like a child in our hands
Empress:
We will walk into the land of sleep,
Dream about the Ups and Downs,
Dream about the moans and styles,
Our eyes will travel in the dead night,
And open to connect the falls and rises of our worship.
Paciolo:
It's the trust - the pleasure
It's the prominent race - not riches
It's the happiness in us
Love join them - & we long for it
Copyright ©
Ismail Junaid Oluwadamilare
|
|