Horus

Horus plays cosmic flute in a circle that meet itself at

the golden lion’s mouth, the crystalline fountains and the
mineral mines exhale the perfume of the cabaret, the
absinth of anarchy. Mienne Belle Amie, come on! The
profuse passion fire flames in a pitonical ecstasy,
recondite, hidden on destroyer gaze. Dear rebel virgin,
come on! With your splendorous nakedness, with your
sensual curves, your perfume, aroma di Femina; bear the
fire and the horns of God, fell the unicorn smell. The
world is in coma, turned off, without the power that reigns
the universe; Mienne Belle Amie, come on! Crave for!
Snake skin, plasmal plume; my sun wants your hotness,
my shadow wants your darkness, my eyes want your light.
Come on! Oberon touches your milky breasts. The fingers
slide over all your body stretch, meets your lips, kisses
them in burning passion. Oberon visits your matrix, plucks
out your clothes, kisses your thighs, and relishes her under
magic Horus eyes. The flute introduces multicolored
notes, solid and liquid melodies. I feel your touch to
compose songs, your groans to take shape images in
flatted ether. Join, my darling! Ejaculate your existence, I
press you against my body, I feel you entirely. Yell! Bite
me! Drink in my blood, dally with my sperm; I am your
extension, your delirium oh my illusion, reanimate my
feeling in the course of the coma’s world, with your body,
with your spirit, with our occult love.

By Emerson Ehing