When she erupts, she's up on top Consuming the landscape beneath rhythmic sheets and tremors
Falling, her hair mops my face in tickling swirls
Laughing eyes land in mine like pools of hot blue romance
Her kisses devour my epidermis
Slow burning erosion And romancing magma
And when she is through
I am volcanic ash

05/23/2015

Posted on 05/23/2015
Copyright © 2024 Tim D Livingston