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deepundergroundpoetry.com

HER HOLY MOUND

Her holy mound
had hair around,
tickling my face
when in the place
of giving head
to her in bed,
rich pubic fur
grown wild like her.

Sight of that fuzz
would give me buzz
when we stripped down
post nights on town.
She was willing
for my filling
of her wet hole,
taking length whole.

Others, I've found,
are less hair bound.
The most brazen
go clean shaven,
while landing strips
would greet my lips
on those who max
the Brazil wax.
Written by Solomon_Song
Published
Author's Note
Another euphemism picked up from Lost Viking, as in his The Edge of Wonder:

And so my hand, sandwiched between
her warm stomach and tight jeans,
rooted its way to a holy mound,
a revered site.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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