Haiku

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.
 
drowning in pleasure:
my upside-down umbrella
your golden shower
 
Just like a syringe.
Overloaded. Then, release.
Your finger smells, though.
 
my pussy has teeth
all the better to eat you...
see - I salivate!
 
a sweet-smelling rose
flourishes when unguarded
by prudish cotton
 
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.
 
forgotten masters...
paint itself makes a canvas
for unseeing eyes
 
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.
 
a shower indeed
not golden but pearlescent...
how I am adored
 
Dredging through the muck...
The principled mind descends.
The gutter awaits.
 
However...

There are many ways
Pearlescence can rescue you.
Filth can be sublime.
 
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