Meadow after meadow after meadow

flourishing like the most superfluous bush.

The audacity

to be burst of luscious pleasure

to be creased bone-dry fragment

to be flop of a sad shape

to be gluey funky mud

to be the dirt, to be the soil

WET AND JUICY

fresh as a blush.

It´s a tickling sensation

fleshy feeling.

Butterflies, dragonflies, fruitflies.

It´s a buttery consistence,

hot like dragon spit,

sweet and fruity,

moist as moss.

Dripping feast,

tipping bits, toe tips, nipple tips

nerve ends feeling this

...

Can I pet your pubes?

Meadow, after meadow, after meadow

every weed in this flesh

cherished with...