It is hot, red, swollen. It is the fountain of desire, and the consumation of love. It pounds, throbs, aches, with his every move. It swallows him whole. It pulses, contracts, squeezes. It is engorged with the blood, of his undying passion. It feels, senses, climaxes. Welcome to the heart of a Woman.
Back to Opening Page
Back to Poetry Index
Back to Story Index
© 1997 blackwing@sk.sympatico.ca