A poem written by: Black Fungus

Slipping.

A smoothness of satin fabric and soft skin.

She was, she is, seduction of such sensations… (How dare you stand foot on this ground)

He is, he was, tempter of the locks of passion.

Tongue slipping now, even deeper…

Can you feel it?

Inside there feels the tingle of loin

joined

the tender spot of bliss

sighing.

***

And this is how writers play daily. The rest is just the mundane.