The Witxch (A Psalm of Eros)


She’s older, she’s younger, and she’s music of need, ethereal, keys moving, wishing relief. The path in the garden, the one she will choose, and loosen her garment, the witxch ere he moves.

My older legs against the wall, for if I tell you speak of all, that magic spell that’s in my side that erupts pleasure makes it nice. What turn I this a gift to you that comes, in sinew, through and through. While lovers gasp in air of last, my spirit takes you shoving fast. This witxch, this witxch that comes through me, that loves to love and sometimes leaves. This treasure in the night or day, spinning your hips, your moisture play, and then on top on down you come, your back in stars, and water sums. Hold me, hold me, upon the bridge between your sighs, while lovers breathe, and change the world where shadows play, into your longing, of foreplay.

Older a plain of running sieves, when we made pleasure in the leaves, when fall, came down, we could not last, joined in our bodies, fuming fast. Groaned on we, took the wind that blows and brings a hurricane to our bow, and shot our soul into the sea, did you not scream do me, do me. Anthology of all sexual past, of arms and breast and paths through past. To come together in the dark, sweet beat of organs, from first spark, that brings you, on me to call out, for tasting nether where passion starts. Where bodies writhe in wayward games, and breath so heavy in their stay. Oh beam of human that will not last join into spirits, free at last, for Eros flies in mind unseen, releases nerves all energy, and cums and cums, and licks away, what word of stillness that moans with play.

Have you sweet woman wished a witxch, that there shy lad, with dark eyes thick. Did you not know when ember flames, and moons cross meadows, high western plains? It is then he turns into rain. And, his hard sex, becomes the prose, that takes you under, as he goes. Beyond all era time of the past, be still the future, while you bed, and then until your stated still, your perspired body, has had its fill. No one will know, the screams you’ve had, in privacy, the night done past. Has this now made you want the spell of witxch’s garden, from the well?

She’s older, she’s younger, and she’s music of need, ethereal, keys moving, wishing relief. The path in the garden, the one she will choose, and loosen her garment, the witxch ere he moves. – 05.12.2015 –
דָּנִיֵּאל

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