Fluids
A poem about the sensuality of fluids
Dedicated to: PAL You lick your lips in anticipation, to taste my apple martini.From your Manhattan, I'm dying, to savor the rich Southern whiskey. As we leave the bar, and up to our sanctuary, we ascend.Trying to hide our thirst, we no longer can pretend. Our fluids will be shared, drenching our orifices with liquid lust.Our loins so very tense, both of us hang on the cusp. You lean in for a kiss, my face a crimson curre...