our skins have touched
to the G point of the night
there is a red earthquake
at the lonely places of the skin
the desire has been chatty
when your breath covered my body
your breath is the prologue
of your rainy motions
i am the discoverer
of your body's secret city
my hands has travelled by spelling
through the white atlas of your skin
the wasps of my tongue have settled
in the weeny poppy field
which is at the south of your face
oh my love, the subjective of my life
oh your boobs are as the Dardanelles
that can not be passed by the enemy fleet
they are spanning from
one shoulder of yours to the other
as the Great Wall of China
the hegemony is at your boobs absolutely
at the night which has cross eyed spelling
