ORIGINAL SIN

Woman thou art as the tsarina of realms grand,
Through thy eyes springs the cataract of love!
For thy mister hast thou prepare a good brand?
It cracks, you have anointed no one thus far.

So, drop thy brassiere and chance my steed a labour,
To have the round of thy emerald lawn.
Thou too have a pleasure of an explosive calcium.

Madame, don’t you shake thee, thine hands thus,
Thy shaking shakes thy pregnant breasts!
And fully loaded; vigour pulsates in them,
As liquid does rebound in a diaphanous ball.

Vibe of thine atom bombs is transparent to me,
Could vacillate the foundation of entire America!
Tremor the lands beyond the Atlantic,
Power to quake the ground of the Mediterranean,
Could send the wave of an oscillation to the Eiffel Tower.

Madame, don’t unpin thy grenades, stay compressed,
Can wreak havoc in continents: Asia and Africa.
Might cause avalanche and flat the precipices of Harmukh,
Sans the extraordinary aid of winter storm.

Hold thy breath and tread softly thy fat steps to the fore,
Ay! lest the Great Wall of China may crumble down
Into rubble: fall by your ravishing moves.

Thy tresses art winding wild, so doest thou eyes,
Art lurking in ambush as a sniper in woods with Kalasnikova,
So come, and charge the trigger, – evacuate the loaded magazine
Of thine eyes – and murder me.

For I cannot encourage against the buoyancy of thine breasts;
Swollen as the pregnant grapes of an Arabia,
Are dancing full and wild, in rhythmic cadence,
Under the black caftan: fustian frock’s mosaic tapestry.

Ready to volley onto some gigantic empire.
Perhaps, in amnesia reduced to hook them by an object of fashion.

Madame! The motion of thine breasts, scintillates my blood in fire,
As the hot water does bubble in a seething cauldron.
Thus, come madame come!
Come over the couch of a silky fibre.

Pour t’is fermenting nectar off,
From of your glutted hives – cancerous as the ATLANTA BALLS.
And let’s lie there in an oblivious endeavour…,
Extinguish this sour fire of our bodies together.

Let’s have the taste of an Original Sin today.
O Anaesthesia! Let’s be immodest like the current night
And come, let’s have it now, slowly, furiously, wildly.