The Gates

In the moon’s light

There in the soft darkness

Kneeling at paradise’s door

Opened mouth

To receive the supplication

Like a wanton whore

Licks that are deep and thick

 

Tasting the ambrosia smooth and slick

Only a moan from within without a voice

Pleasure With utter devotion

As the doors, open south

As if by choice

Sweat glistening from eagerness

With no end in sight

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