Sunday morning between your thighs just before noon
Milking my words with your pussy’s flowing nectar
Every second circling slowly within your tune
Licking each lip as your only love’s collector
Lifting your left leg for the right understanding
Instilling my brain with every hidden angle
Necking your protruding clitoris expanding
Gaining momentum towards your long triangle
You let me touch your covert muliebrity
Opening wide wherever my eyes come to wreathe
Undying lust in love with sans salubrity
Smelling you silly till it is you that I breathe
In your hand you hold part of me dying slightly
Lingering as my soaked intellect learns to pray
Learning indubitably painfully tightly
Your Monday will be always skipping my Sunday
-----
Asaf Avidan - The Labyrinth Song
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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