Tethered to Dionysius homestead; acquaintance You have surfed consistently this aqueous dance; sweet sour sand dunes April broke our tryst Culinary scented, gushing mirth - No other bard can tell better... Only but your surf board; Basquiat's dirty classic A collage of distinctly honed virtues, horn locked with ephemeral gains like untamed Ibexes on heat There is a smile on the lips of the rivers, luring windy dances, evident upon mother earth's gyrating green follicle flames Your essence is her joyful curving lips. Only the ears that have groped curiosity eyes that cut faster than the scalpel of amadioha's bolts like the midnight curtain torn by pleasurable moans escaping untamed lips shall applaud your imbued resilience by churning few seconds of tete a tete; served honestly Hercules is a molten diet in those veins The lioness nursing after fight lacerations should cast a gaze at a smiling competitor Our rinds mesh; perhaps sumptuously seasoned a tale in the uterus of unmade morrows The landfall of this tide, I dictate a simultaneous extension of parallel dots - Running aground bleak crows of vague hopeful dawns Deluging those eyes with trickling joy...