Pink Beasts

Your eternal sand castle,
The proposal on one knee,
The few seconds of awe,
Which seemed like hesitation
Or surprise, or both. The babies you see,
In her eyes, the baby making
That channels your vision,
The obituary every orgasm has,
The epitaph on her face,
The afterglow of pyrotechnics.
The woman, the tissue, the tampon,
The moist eyes, the wet monsoons,
And tattoo on her ankle,
That is a blue inked sunflower.
How I can chew, like an apple,
Any of her body parts,
How she lets me listen,
As she moans like a sea siren,
How the same bus ride,
Has different times to disembark,
At the same destination,
The joyride with a ticket,
An epic poem a woman is,
Goosebumps to afterglow,
How her clit is like,
An axolotl, little and pink,
A creature known as,
A wet aquatic salamander,
How this little beast smiles,
And smiles, and smiles,
Her body exploding in flashes
of light, like streaks of lightning.
My tongue, that too pink,
Retracts like a tired prawn,
To hide inside a little sea cave,
How she keeps on baiting
A pink prawn, sometimes
In beautiful foreplay, sometimes neat,
Until a lobster crashes the party,
Until we are juxtaposed,
Cuddling side by side, a knot of limbs,
Looking at a beautiful sunset,
The night opening up, blooming,
Through the budding dusk,
Holding moons over our necks,
And sweat-dappled stars below.

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