Cradle
By Ronin Dennis © 2001, All Rights Reserved.
In the yellow dusk of our loveliest temple
And my nose drinks deep the sweet scent of your gender
No poetry (of earth or beyond) to voice it is ample
And when your hands guide and lay gently your breast
In my moisty mouth, of hunger forlorn,
The warmth of my lips will suck with a thirsty zest
(Should this sweetness from my mouth be torn I will forever mourn)
When ascending you are my heaven, to smile high above me
And I am your earth, to rise and fall below
Your breast will be Bifrost, for our bodies that will be
Connected by your breast in my mouth, that Ambrosia may flow
But when Bifrost collapses and your breasts I will press
In a furious embrace, our flesh moulded in form
Let the your dark hair entwine your breasts on my chest
Let my rising red Phoenix enter your eye of the storm
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