His fire is a Bazaar sequins-layered Moroccan belly dancer
caressing the phalanges' tips
The tip of his bishop pulsating
to every stroke of Her hip
The embers brand pulchritudinous
Yes! irony sheds light to the amused Hyena
I am an eye parasite--
A sight sucked inside;
Plush, scarlet lips
The ignite of his semen
Bursts! from creamy vanilla
to salty anchovies--
An occult like the Ku Klux Klan;
Exempt bigotry
Flickering ecstasy
as the penetration devours the walls of Doomsday
The pulse races to His flame
The Sin City front runner equates to two scalding orgasms.
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