My love has eyes the blue of skies,
Her hair a golden cloud.
She sits inside a tight pink skin
Which bends where it’s allowed.
This happens mostly at her joints
Where two bones have a meet –
At neck and shoulders, elbows, wrists
And hips – to make a seat.
Between white teeth a reddish tongue
Articulates in spit
Which dribbles down inside her throat
And lubricates a bit.
Her breasts and buttocks (nicely hung)
In dynamic interaction
Bobble when she walks and talks
To make a main attraction.
Within, a meaty working system
Begets organic fluids.
Parts (too numerous to list ’em)
Process ingested fooeds
Liquefied to meld with flesh,
Proteins, lipids, sugars, gases,
Letting organs mix and mesh
Pumping up curvaceous masses.
But parts internal, sorely needed,
Aren’t where desires are rooted.
Indirectly are they heeded
While shapes outside, convoluted,
Convexities and concave
Are clearly touted, toasted, tooted
Making all my glands to rave
And rationality all muted.