jet black hair on a white pillow case,
round buttocks on two sturdy thighs,
V for vortex of mons venus,
and a winking navel
beneath strawberry
tipped mammary cones,
sigh with touches that could comply
with strength and seeds
flowing from the rim of the horizon
through the funnel of the eye
to the searing vortex of the thalmus
blast off
take off
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem