sycamore sunday service

we met in the desert.

shared a pipe,

and the sun stripped us


i was a gypsy,

superstitious and free.

my cock was cursed

to tangle with his tongue.

boulders in the sycamore,

were cool to the touch.

his balls were warm

with delicious sweat.

we invented our religion,

without murder and mayhem.

no one was blind.

my fingers found the path

to his ass.

we begun to pray,

the morning was breaking.

oh my god, fuck

we chanted all day.

the waterfall tumbled.

planting seed

along the way.

like the sycamore flowed,

inside us.

my holy intention

was to enter him.

surrounded by high water,

and the anonymous.

happy love everywhere.

nipples were the stars,

his navel was the moon.

his enlightenment,

i fed upon.

as my communion,

with the saints.

our flesh,

burned in the sun.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s