Peepshow

Summer heat has us all on fire.

I've been delighting in the spectacle: hungry lovers feeding ravenously on burning flesh, sipping sweat and spit.

Mouth to tit.

Fingerprint roadmaps charting new adventures explored across corporeal mountains and caverns.

Furry gardens abloom with ripe scents, intoxicating the mind, blurring all borderlines and boundaries.

The jungle of love, dense and humid, spills and spans across marked and owned territories.

Pulsing hips slash and burn their way through the pungent wilderness, careless of propriety.

Oh! How I love these feeding, breeding seasons.

From my perch, I witness the lovers. I hover over their desires.

I hear their call in moans, whispers, tender begging. I sing their song.

Lovers waft upwards on winds of passion to my aerie; I am flanked on all sides.

They grasp and nuzzle, pawing to pull me down and into their cuddly cult.

But I prefer my cloud. Prefer to observe what's happening all around.

A girl must take heed in these dangerous landscapes.

Animalia elicits primal urges which could compromise hearts, minds, health or sanity.

Better to resist the serpent in this garden, so as not to fall from the goddess's good graces.

Yet, I voyeur on. I sop up the energies of this potent elixir.

I am ego-stroked and stoked to feel so craved.

I am as powerful as the summer sun at high noon...

... but reserve my juices for...