deepundergroundpoetry.com
Go Down HO Down: Make up Sex, New Age Cowboy Style
The trouble that we went through to have a little fling
still later was sweet energy that lost what it could bring.
If what you need is to release and lose all your control,
then why waste time, just get in line, and let your body roll.
Whatever courage that it takes to get your crevice wet
is always at your beck and call and never mind, "Not yet!"
We can go for days and days in Kundalini fire,
we'll turn up all the music then and sing until we're higher!
So, don't waste time by picking at some sore or kicking dogs,
'cause if we play these cards just right we'll soon be sawing logs.
runningturtle87
still later was sweet energy that lost what it could bring.
If what you need is to release and lose all your control,
then why waste time, just get in line, and let your body roll.
Whatever courage that it takes to get your crevice wet
is always at your beck and call and never mind, "Not yet!"
We can go for days and days in Kundalini fire,
we'll turn up all the music then and sing until we're higher!
So, don't waste time by picking at some sore or kicking dogs,
'cause if we play these cards just right we'll soon be sawing logs.
runningturtle87
Published 12th Jul 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Anonymous
12th Jul 2012 3:18pm
I enjoy having flings
I need to release
Reading you, gets me wet
But you say "Not yet"
So now I will be direct
Why are you writing
When we could be in bed?
I need to release
Reading you, gets me wet
But you say "Not yet"
So now I will be direct
Why are you writing
When we could be in bed?
12th Jul 2012 4:19pm
The greatest event about being in bed
is not under the sheets but what's in your head;
while you were still dancing, and nail biting lips,
I'd already uncovered your succulent hips.
Writing's the form of the formless in flow;
the warm feeling felt is now something you know.
is not under the sheets but what's in your head;
while you were still dancing, and nail biting lips,
I'd already uncovered your succulent hips.
Writing's the form of the formless in flow;
the warm feeling felt is now something you know.
