The Night Poem by Dabouz Yamina

As a slave between his hands,

Trembling with tasting desires

In that darkend room

A bit lightend with thee body,

Exposed on as a Picasso' paint
.
Breaths, were the longing voices

That echoe within the rhythm,

His magical words teasing my feelings

Stop! Oh don't stop

Were the only words, my ears conciderd

It was late, my soul cried for more

The night comes to an end

My heart urged for no mercy!

The savagery was his pseudonym.