I stared at those brown cat-eyes,
which always digs in me lies.
After the passion did trigger,
there was a volcanic vigour.
She tasted like smooth velvet,
my tongue was then fish in a net.
I squeezed her tight in my arms,
in infinite high we forgot our norms.
My serpant hard near her nest,
our bodies with colossol unrest.
My hands cupped her custard bosom,
while she had an orgasm.
She conluded me a dog,
while she held the warm log.
On warmly cold dusty roof,
and nobody had proof.
The truth is like a chemeleon,
She will realize when i am in oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem