- Erotic Poetry
- Burnt oak trees on top of the hill.
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In a forest clearing, seldom traveled,
We are burnt oak trees on top of the hill,
We’re destined to never be unraveled.
Our once restless and rustling leaves hold still,
Resisting all storms with the greatest ease.
We are burnt oak trees on top of the hill.
When our branches touched gently in the breeze,
We grew together and got entangled,
Resisting all storms with the greatest ease.
Magnetic trunks started to get angled,
When Valentine struck with his lightning bolt,
We grew together and got entangled.
We panted in the fire’s stranglehold,
The flames melted all my resins for you,
When Valentine struck with his lightning bolt.
Petrified waterfall of amber glue,
In a forest clearing, never traveled,
The flames melted all my resins for you,
We’re destined to never be unraveled.
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