The Queue

in your body,

Without spot, 
without wrinkle,
I saw promise.

An exquisite body,
Fit for a goddess.

Of pleasures untold,
A treasure trove.

Touch me, 
Touch me,

Cried out in ecstacy,
Those succulent breasts.

Follow me, 
Follow me,

Sann out with joy,
Those mountain buttocks,

Like ripe water melons,
Swinging in free-play.

Like a flood 
Passion overwhelmed me,

Raging like a summer veld fire.

The way through your thighs,
Was no narrow path,

But a grave wide open,

The road that to destruction,
Leads.

And as I lie 
In this hospital bed,

Of the many men,
In your queue,

I am just one,
Counting the days,

The calendar pages,
Tearing off.
 
(c) P. Chidavaenzi, 2010