The road was dark,
conditions treacherous,
heat and humidity,
white ragged rocks,
but he pressed on
to reach the very end,
the biology of cul-de-sac.
Between the firmament
of what they call La Lingua
and past the junction of
Uvula Strait, he paused.
And as the mount erupted
time was suspended.
It had been their wish.
Delightfully titillating (or should that be 'clit-illating'?) Love from your moist faithful reader as ever, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
brings back fond memories of wine women and song and a faded memory of sex but now i have to chuck a coin to decide wether to have a meal or chase women and wether i have enough left to do the deed when i catch one warm regards allan