There is a rhythm
Coming off her body
Like the meter of a poem
Pounded out on every fibre
Of the mortal form
Endearing itself
To a man
Who, in a moment
Of nature, most primally
Must make himself a part of her rhythm.
Coming off her body
Like the meter of a poem
Pounded out on every fibre
Of the mortal form
Endearing itself
To a man
Who, in a moment
Of nature, most primally
Must make himself a part of her rhythm.
![skull](https://dz3ixmv6nok8z.cloudfront.net/static/img/emoticons/skull.4242d54c7e24.gif)
nicklesanddimes3:
nice.