Body(just a poem)

           
           
           
           
        One's  turned on, like fans on hot summer days;            
        or an air conditioner when her sweat drips,            
        like the tip of one's ice cream cone;            
        we're both like a beautiful hot mess of impulsiveness;            
                    
           
         chest to breast, though souls connect, beyond the flesh;            
         a wet dream unlike the rest;            
         something real, that's not a test;            
         that "something more" to casual sex;            
           
                      
         we're not "I'm-pressed", we're like that tape that just won't eject;            
        because "The Standard" "VCR", isn't this "DVD";    
      noncommercial unlike tv;           
         the tale of this tape isn't video nor cassette;            
        it's spiritually natural; not intellect;            
           
           
         but it's sexy, like an art form designed by a natural architect....