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 Eastern cuisineFor Sheila By J.P Amos April 23, 2002 The Iranian Tickled black, impossibly trapped, arraigned in a court of lust and guilty as c h a r g e d. Corrupted by the cool delinquent darkness of your twin obsidian stars. Utterly lost in my queen of dreams, not even Hafiz and his muse could paint you more vividly than your form torn from reality and re-defined in the deliquescent dimensions of my unsated d e s i r e. I want the crimson splash and b u r n of your moist radioactive lips. Split my soul asunder, plunder my secret songs. Wrap my waist in the golden cream of your screaming thighs. Extemporize your need for collusion of skin and demigod t o u c h in devilish whispers. Feel the universe splinter and subdivide in a collision of corporeal relish as the tingles in your delicious tummy turn to s h i v e r s. Jigar-e toe bikhoram, and for dessert I'll have your heart. ©2002 J.P Amos
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