I worship you

I worship you

She is my savior. She is my bitch.
She wears the fabric of reality,
Like black lace hosiery strapped
To her thigh with a garter belt
A gifted to her by Lucifer.
And every time we are together,
The fucking nylons runs and I fall through
That hole in the crotch to another dimension
One where unicorns and mermaids
Never stop… fucking.
Where the orchids are talking
And the earthworms have eyes
A limitless universe where nothing
Makes sense, except the impulse
To penetrate and ejaculate.
She points to a blossom and giggles.
The petals are fleshy and bulging.
All the flowers are vulvas.
And little fluffy bunnies hop by with stiff dicks,
Everything in nature is made wet
By her laughter.
She is my oracle. She is my muse.
Every word I write was first formed
In the dreamtime she embodies,
The primal wound of separation
Is somehow mended when she
Flirtatiously licks her lips.
We need not make love for
The reparation of my madness,
Nor share a pillow, nor even a kiss.
Touching or not, we are already one.
For the hole in my heart is shaped,
Like the hole between her legs
Having put my fingers in there,
More than once, I’ve now mapped
And memorized her folds and
Secret chambers, such that all the
The mysteries of the material world
Dissolve in the moments we cum.
Together or not.
She is my Soul mate. She is my moonlight.
Lying in bed as a girl-child, fingering herself
Through her cotton panties, she tells me,
I am the woman for you.
I marvel at all the space,
Between stars, and her light managed
To bounce off the sun and find my eyes
And warm my skin.
She is my daughter. I am her Daddy.
In the shape-shifting/ time-traveling
Field of permission that is born by
Our meeting, we rewrite the collective
Incest wound in Redeeming rapists,
And risking eternal damnation.
She is my harlot. She is my home.
Her fantasies are my spiritual scriptures.
She is the second coming that absolves,
The bogus story of original sin
Our lovemaking is a prayer:
A twisted, fantasy-filled tribute
To the incomprehensible reality
We inhabit.
And our fucking is in rebellion.
Our bodies uprising in wild pleasure,
Against the systematic shaming of life
And the source of all life comes from woman


By nutbuster