Muse juices
Climbing up the lounge
She makes the lunges,
She finds more of herself on him,
She knows the divine inside herself,
He exudes the divine to the outside.
It seems too simple how this came about,
It seems so easy, that love
That decision she made
those moments before,
He smiled and she smiled,
Feeling her around him and on him
Why so quick
this infatuation that saturates?
Why so deep this correctness?
She smiles, he smiles, she moves,
he receives and relieves
Why so much so easily?
Why do they feel like crying in this joy?
Hold back one more time,
The pressures build,
she comes again and again
She falls hard on him
Her hair pulls so compliantly,
The wet sleeve yields against him
enveloping,
Pounding her into the well,
The ecstatic depths she never knew
She knows he has those things,
How did he get them?
How can she inspire him so much?
Breathing together
exploding Undiscovered worlds
out of their multigasm
How did he do that?
Why does she want him so much?
The weakness in his strengths,
the strengths in his weaknesses,
yielding again she grows as he comes
Petit morte.
“Why does it have to always be about sex”,
she complains.
She feigns.
She loves that its always about sex.
It almost always gets motivated from sex toward sex.
Sex, sex with the tantric Mondo;
the master of masters always gives fulfillments
with his natural actions. She imagines them.
She anchors them.
She can’t figure out where he learned it.
How he does it.
She had always missed out. She longed for him In the
wasted moments spent with all those boyish fools. She
forgets all her stupid preferences.
She leaves the Sapphic realm forever
returned to the gods in her head.
Her tattooed ass.
The orient on her leg.
The elixirs in her pussy.
It ‘s always about sex.
Life best describes itself that way.
She makes the lunges,
She finds more of herself on him,
She knows the divine inside herself,
He exudes the divine to the outside.
It seems too simple how this came about,
It seems so easy, that love
That decision she made
those moments before,
He smiled and she smiled,
Feeling her around him and on him
Why so quick
this infatuation that saturates?
Why so deep this correctness?
She smiles, he smiles, she moves,
he receives and relieves
Why so much so easily?
Why do they feel like crying in this joy?
Hold back one more time,
The pressures build,
she comes again and again
She falls hard on him
Her hair pulls so compliantly,
The wet sleeve yields against him
enveloping,
Pounding her into the well,
The ecstatic depths she never knew
She knows he has those things,
How did he get them?
How can she inspire him so much?
Breathing together
exploding Undiscovered worlds
out of their multigasm
How did he do that?
Why does she want him so much?
The weakness in his strengths,
the strengths in his weaknesses,
yielding again she grows as he comes
Petit morte.
“Why does it have to always be about sex”,
she complains.
She feigns.
She loves that its always about sex.
It almost always gets motivated from sex toward sex.
Sex, sex with the tantric Mondo;
the master of masters always gives fulfillments
with his natural actions. She imagines them.
She anchors them.
She can’t figure out where he learned it.
How he does it.
She had always missed out. She longed for him In the
wasted moments spent with all those boyish fools. She
forgets all her stupid preferences.
She leaves the Sapphic realm forever
returned to the gods in her head.
Her tattooed ass.
The orient on her leg.
The elixirs in her pussy.
It ‘s always about sex.
Life best describes itself that way.
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