Haiku

Arcing. Pearls fly.
Warm, thick like tropical rain,
Falling on her chest.
 
why do swimming styles
sound suspiciously like sex?
breast stroke, for starters...
 
To thoughts of hot sex
The mind finds its way always.
Not just watersports.
 
Just like a syringe.
Overloaded. Then, release.
Your finger smells, though.
 
Happy sausage swings
Unencumbered in the heat.
Commandos unite!
 
(lol)

hear the drill sergeant
calling them to attention...
they'll soon stand at ease
 
Light clothes hang heavy.
Sweat beads, collects, and stays put.
So fucking humid.
 
dripping wet - my skin
fractalled with perspiration:
detailed ecstasy...
 
Passion, told through sweat:
Sweat as a map, to be read,
Written on the skin.
 
feast your clockwork eyes
on my disassembled self...
do we not tick well?
 
Pieces of puzzles
Meshing to make an image.
How well they fit.
 
Even the master
Is sometimes mastered in turn.
Paint can’t rule canvas.
 
Some eyes cannot see
Different ways of adding paint.
Fault of eyes, or paint?
 
knickers in a twist,
wrapped around his little - well
it's not so little...
 
Big, warm drops descend.
Thick. Slow in the oily air.
It's rain, gutter-brain.
 
Dredging through the muck...
The principled mind descends.
The gutter awaits.
 
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