To see the invisible stars
on the days sky
which like a spire
through the blazing sun
into the inner eye
of the Octopussy,
there She is.
For in passionate throws
does she slither
in [ - ] and [ ^ ] and [ + ]
awaiting the chill of night
for a serpents dance
with jewels for eyes
and in scales.
It is between her legs;
the tightness
which then injects,
sedates it in the dying grasp
one last orgasm -
and one more
into it.
I am not afraid of it,
for it is life
and as all livings it
too must feed; whom are we
to then flee it -
but nourish
it instead.
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