In memory of my first dance

We marched!

Kissed each other under the sun

Hugged, bewitched by the heat

Intoxicated with luscious eyes

That reaped my pained elbow up to my wrist

Crashed down in a harder manner

Thrust continuous as we roll over

Heat heightens its existence

As drizzling sensation abduct my crippled knees

Prowess of Magi in terms of pleasure

Granted by my siren – hollowed out from Venus’ tomb!

Appraised by my bewildered notion

Of touching and licking

Crafty premonition of petal explosion

I possess the flower tearing beak of amputation

Sakura blossom in mid April, as she expresses what she feels

I ripped! Those pinkish petals of innocence!

And as I performed again the dance of spear

Her tongue is a bit twisted

As I chained again an another rampage

A song from a siren that is obscure

Bleating in temperament pitch – again with innocence

Explained what she felt in that pseudo-violence.

A cheerful horror – paradoxically certain!

As she succumb to a sailor with a sharp beak

And a husky voice capable of sending her in organic bliss.

This is not, a theory of decadence

As we performed the sacred choreography

And will stay in the rest of our memory

That picture of rupture, with intense pierce

Connotes a certain melody. . .

A singing symphony in an unfamiliar tune!