The way of all flesh ~

And she, 

a poet in everything 

(except words),

traced a silk road 

on my chest with her legs,

and said -

There's nothing worth reading

except about love,

there's nothing worth doing

except make love. 

What is your mood tonight,

to do or to talk?

He found a mole 

somewhere up her thighs,

where shadows 

had begun to fall, 

and said -

Let's make love with words,

and see where it leads:

why dwell in one world,

when there's adventure in two. 

Her smile was langour,

and felt like smoky halls

&  mothy nooks-

Your words give me a high

but your body is my soul:

you enter me

and make me a mistress of zen.

I'm a creature of my skin

and your body makes me whole.

Maybe the way of all flesh 

is perdition,

but the way leads 

through nirvana.

So be my Jesus tonight,

read your sermon to me,

and then have me crucified:

be my cross, my love, and 

let my blood not go waste.

Don't believe them who say 

you have sold your soul 

to the devil -

know, it's treasured,

know, it is rendered pure,

every night with me,

every night.