He stuck it in,
soft dribbles, then a long kick,
pitch of clits, that dick's a rogue;
7ft 3, such huge pitch couldn't cloak.
And further up, light dance in,
Till the G-spot, boxed eighteen.
His hands up, aiding the ride,
Her thighs, urging the strides.
And when the dickhead hit,
Her whistle moan filled the pitch.
Give her a ballon d'moan...
Favoritism!
22 - 21 = 1; 5 : 55.
P.S. Inspired by a statement on Twitter, "Ballon d'moan"
© Zu xian.
We drove all day on dusty roads to Xian
in the Shaanxi province
to see the clay men.
The army is deployed in large archaeological pits.
Our guide, a Chinese beauty, marshals us from the front
like any good general.
Her voice is a dulcet lagoon
in this desiccated place.
We all notice that her silk cheongsam
clings to her embroidered,
peach of a bottom.
The arsenic-poisoned emperor died as mad as a hatter,
believing a metalloid would grant him endless life.
It`s difficult to tell if his megalomania arrived
before his craziness, or after
but they buried him deep where insanity is timeless.
As we file out, I look back.
The clay spear carriers
the foot soldiers, the dusty officers
even the horses,
all of them seem to be stifling smirks -
their eyes latched upon
a heavenly peach, no doubt.
Cymbals and fireworks crisp and crescendo through the
black of night past the chrysanthemums displays
for the year of the Goat begins.
from the mainland Chinese tourist arrive
red cars, red money, red clothes, flame with wishes for
prosperity as displays descend
over Victoria harbor in Hong Hong.
pray the ghosts leave with the noise
and peace and prosperity descend
hang your red lanterns
paste red animals on your windows
pray the ghosts of years past leave in peace
sparklers
rockets
firecrackers
Technicolor displays animate the streets
pyrotechnics fill the air, shopping markets overflow
as unattainable commodities get packed back
to Xian, Beijing and Shanghai -
powdered milk dreams - a luxury attainable here
replace the rush to gunpowder displays
smoke coats the metal heavy air
as the crowds disperse for
a dumpling morning
parading creatures of past and present
awe and delight
Lion dancers snake, kick, drum,
feet beat to the gong in hong hong
and all of China
Oh the heart tears.
It beats and throbs.
Well springs of light lanterns
Weave and bob.
Still, darkened grime rimed
portals glare,
sad, empty-eyed adults stare.
Oh the heart tears.
Its pulse expands.
Forced back;
dark dwellers disband.
Replaced by children’s crimson cheeks;
lollipops, pigtails, skipping feet.
Small hearts, so precious,
small hands so bold;
reaching out the world to hold.
Oh the heart weeps, it weeps for joy,
but only for one girl or boy.