Seed pods seen inside while high trip of fingers to the furthest limits of the thigh Wafts of sticky fluid and cypress resin from peachy valley flow under walls of megalithic rock to white horses whinnying, rearing through my bed Tiny seed pods gushing forth caught and carried in the air footpad ,fretlock slipping tongue a pawtrack windfall for all to see slipping, sliding under downfilled covers from me to you Then if my seed shall float to you into you over you through nights of owlsong bats & fluttering moths and woven threads of other shores Let there be cum stains in our white hot bed © 2001 Barry Fitton |
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