Treasure Island

Nicholas Peter


Amour de Pistolet


Your body is a shotgun,
firing amour rounds,
of spread shot range pellets,
of gunpowder romance.

Those lips,
canon explosions,
fired from the top of your body,
soft and sweet.

The passion filled embrace,
of which I trap myself,
is an octopus grip,
of inescapable affection.

Your want is a battlefield,
large and intense,
gunshot desire fires from pistol eyes,
and enters bloody into the body.

Submitted: Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 23, 2013
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