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Poems from the zine, To All My Lovers
With his crimson lips,
he spoke to me in the language of love,
crying forth in glorious throes of lust, his ecstasy sung in the key of his
desire from seat his loins.
Oh, what joy it was to know him,
to eat of the fruit of his heart, as an earnest freewill offering to the spontaneity
of the moment.
He gave unto me his whole entire being,
baring his soul as he sang.
Adopting a posture of reverence, he ministered unto my soul,
submitting willingly to the mystery of this love, transfigured forever on
this mount of pleasure.
His every breath, a soft kiss drawing me in, holding me tight,
making me promise to never let go.
Sealing my lips in secrecy to the mystery of lips.