Horus

Horus plays cosmic flute in a circle that meet itself at the golden lion’s mouth, the crystalline fountains and the mineral mines exhale the perfume of the cabaret, the absinth of anarchy. Mienne Belle Amie, come on! The profuse passion fire flames in a pitonical ecstasy, recondite, hidden on destroyer gaze. Dear rebel virgin, come on! With your splendorous nakedness, with your sensual curves, your perfume, aroma di Femina; bear the fire and the horns of God, fell the unicorn smell. The world is in coma, turned off, without the power that reigns the universe; Mienne Belle Amie, come on! Crave for! Snake skin, plasmal plume; my sun wants your hotness, my shadow wants your darkness, my eyes want your light. Come on! Oberon touches your milky breasts. The fingers slide over all your body stretch, meets your lips, kisses them in burning passion. Oberon visits your matrix, plucks out your clothes, kisses your thighs, and relishes her under magic Horus eyes. The flute introduces multicolored notes, solid and liquid melodies. I feel your touch to compose songs, your groans to take shape images in flatted ether. Join, my darling! Ejaculate your existence, I press you against my body, I feel you entirely. Yell! Bite me! Drink in my blood, dally with my sperm; I am your extension, your delirium oh my illusion, reanimate my feeling in the course of the coma’s world, with your body, with your spirit, with our occult love.
By Emerson Ehing

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