Monday, July 16, 2012

An Ode to Ephron


pitch black, curvy outline,
moving towards me
simmering heat, pulsating beats,
the sound of glorified glee

guitar strings, chicken wings
her name is Saraswati
locked tresses, hormone messes
i just couldnt let it be

lips lock, eyes baulk
moving away says she
nobody loves me for my mind
even in sex fantasy

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