Sequoia and bamboo, on the ends of the earth.
And I’d settle for the girth of redwood,
And the brown-yellow skin of a tall grass
And I’m all six foot four inches
A man, who towers over his woman,
And only, when we make love,
Am I, dwarfing below her.
Firing away my tongue muscles,
As she solvates to me,
Like holding a Sakura flower,
Inside your lips, while plucking away,
On her poetic anatomy, the haiku clit,
That makes her Geisha stump,
Making strange noises, hiccups and moans,
Until the banana plant is toppled,
And snow melts down the slopes,
Of a bursting strato-volcano,
And the beauty here lies in,
How I’m not always the second,
To Kamikaze.
