BOSOM DANCE-1

Tore the robe of desire

from the scent smell in that body

where lies the shackles of lust

and the look of thirst,

and the gleam deep inside her

and that decent colored twilight cheek

and the smoldering lip,

where the fangs are planted in

and the crimson tongue hanging out wet

flirts it..

Oh rian in a cranky situation

facing a neck revellion

and a bosom dance

and inflamed distances,

and the call of coldness

and a burning warmth

and familiar things

in the bosom of insomnia

with a burning desire

for docking,

and drowning in the aroused sweat

at that wealthy junction

with locked gate,

and a lover fatuated

with moments of dusk

where the red spot

in that velvety tunnel

and the cries of rain

and the sceams of ice

and the vein pulse

and the implantation of claws

and hell breath

and dying of drowning..

Tarek

April 2011