The lilting whisper of the sea and darkness,
the sand
and the girls who I smell their dews
on the blossom of night.
I see the after taste of their aura,
striping the night
stripping the darkness.
The smell of humidity
and the white whisper of honeysuckles,
the perpetual mating seasons
underneath the moist,
and the constant laughter of waves,
and moon shining their teeth: white-blue.
Orange blossoms' breathing,
bating in the dews of moonshine
to open in the morning.
