Salim Gold

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Boudoir Couplets

Joy should spurn Sorrow, but lovers know both:

Desire, disturbed, stirs a poisonous broth.

The scent of sex is garden soil and grave.

To deprive of Love‘s flowers is to deprave.

I’ll serve you love that’s ripe and raunchy—

Risky as a curse, musky like whiskey.

Ma belle vagine, my “El Hacine,” dear king,

Likes “El Kebachi”—rambunctious fucking.

Smash down my sex! Thrust your hips twixt my thighs.

Mint pearls of sweat till tears silver my eyes.

I’m Yogini, the bitch-goddess of Love:

Take me! Take me! until it’s you I have.

Do you deem me mystic, mysterious?

That’s fine: Who understands the universe?

—Laila

 

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