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.
nicklesanddimes3:
nice.