The rose of heather Lynn

the fruity scent of moist fingers
invade her palate sweating her water cup
strong currents of curiosities
feel her body up

sweeping rushes of passion
ripple her surface
tidal waves of dangerous
curved shapes to willingly be drowned in
and long forgotten

longing for hydrating
impatiently waiting
Your arrival is blessed
her doors open wide
revealing the path to her
fertile wet entrance

her appetizing sweetness draws
you to enter
caressing her swollen company
to receive her gift of
sweet thick nectar