Vos
poèmes

If there is anything mutual
It is but sexual
Folded are the distances between
To sheets' buds when nocturnal.

No conversing breathes
Nothing sentimental
No moon light, no golden dust
Just terrestrial meeting celestrial.

No singing for ears
Just matted grass
No drum rolls sheers
Before the bee invade the nest.

Merging together yet worlds apart
Our lips through measured talks
Our boddies mapped the erotic zone best
But orphans our hearts of romantic walks.