I Like The Flow Of Language That Is So Natural

like falling rain
hitting a yam leaf,

round drops sliding
to the tendrils
of a vine

like water leaking
from a roof
saved by
a tin can

(remember poor
Basho's poem
while he was trying
to sleep
on a rainy day)

like the sound of lips making a kiss
of the ten fingers of the hands sliding
on thighs
down to the most sensitive
part of the human body

the vulva &
the glans
in mutuality of
accepting the rule
of desire

making the most out
of the last remaining
moments of
love.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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