feel the secret of my fingers when looking for the way through the dark mountain

by flanking, stringing along, and surprising the picturesque color of lust

to the tempestuous adrenaline of a kiss, precise and mystical

loving more than your lips beautiful girl

  in the shadow of a campfire

galloping, dancing, and toasting

feel deeply my burning and fiery feeling

to the green grass, to the cushions, and the silk

to the words that get tangled with the warm tongue

to the metaphors of raw milk

back stairs, strength, shake, and milkman

feel the fight between dusk and dawn

to the two expert apprentices, to the kind lava stream

to the slippery and welcoming empty lot

beautiful girl, to grip and resistance

to love and hate

to the balm, the pulp, the juice, and the noon