Spicy and tasty, erotic and salacious, enticing me lately, so high on a spaceship.
Dirty dancing through the mind of a feeble, so exotic and sacred, he is feeling her evil.
Seductive and fruitful, not empty, like void. She filled him with the truthful, love of a boy.
Its like mango lasi, after vindaloo, before the sweet crust of her Nan. Her Yoni was heated with the temperate
steam of a tropical rain, while her hairs became the forest, of a tropical terrain. His phallus spilled
out waters like a torrent, or deluge, of passion, which overflowed, her Berlin walls.
No matter how much water or sweat, her hair curled like lambs wool, that was churned like butter, to be soft as her kiss.
Pungent like curry, the taste of her inner depths, was like a delicacy, only to be share by Kings and Queens.
Wrapped in the sheets of the latter passion, she awakes like a new born dolphin, with the look of new intelligence.
Looking red like mars, filled with the blush of an actress, I could only call beauty Ms. Indian Hemp.
Josephe Buchanan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/indian-hemp/
