When I, as grass, soak up thy wine
Feeding my vine, unto its root
Thy golden flood is, too, divine,
Now loosed without in careful shoot.
Thy private parts release, my sacred peace,
That quenching thirst that tasted first
Fanned my flame with perfect aim.
Thy fountain's reach hath stopped my speech
But never my desire.
I wouldst quaff thy cunt, in sacred rite,
Betwixt thy thighs, I mount my sighs,
Thy spouting stance, thy water's dance,
Bewitch my soul, in part and whole,
Cascading arc now finds its mark.
Its final rest made as my guest,
Lips aquiver guide thy river,
Its coursing stream, as in a dream,
Rides to my throat's surrender.
With rite full done, relief now won,
Your soft place full bare rests on my hair
When I, as grass, doth kiss thy soft place
With passion, and love so tender.
Gravity Wells 2005
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