*By GILDA LILY*
(c) April 10, 1998
Woodsmoke burns,
As do I.
My loins are
Wild
With desire.
And there he stands,
A dream come true,
Tongue running over
Rosy lips.
Ahh.
The chanters flail
Their arms and voices
As they praise
The Sacred Mother.
Our bodies join
In wondrous joy
As limbs entwine
And he is mine.
I fill his flesh
With sacred passion
And burn deep
Within his heat,
The Great Rite
Of passion born.
Pinch his nipples
And cup his cock,
Kiss his shoulder
And plunge in deeper...
Ahh, Benny,
Let the Moon
Shine down
As the Goddess
Beams
Upon our love
And the chants spiral
High, high,
Up to
The sky.
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