Seasons and Passages

All of our expressions speak of experience,

of creation and the evolving of our spirit,

as it begins and also fades in being and becoming,

that I feel no shame in my destiny to embrace your fertile a*****e.

I feel more of  a woman's pride, or  a gay pride,

in at least believing in my my experience,

as testimony to my hope of finding myself in a curious way,

satisfying my needs with the release of s**t from your a*****e.

It is spring,

Not a cherry orchard is as sweet as your pee.

Perhaps as infinite as a quest, 

Your s**t resolves my questions of faith.

To speak of growing, and the kind words of myth,

as our talk is of lingering and degenerating crowds,

of what semblance to the opportunity to live  a life,

believing that your s**t is my life's experience,

an orbit like the orbit of the Earth

in the natural order of your a*****e,

which wets me and makes me jubilant,

the effervescence of a girls pure virginity,

who melted when she pressed her tongue into your a*****e.

In Summer,

The crops are bountiful,

and paradise is kept within the crevice of your a*****e.

One's vocation start from risen thoughts,

that music plays in a time to celebrate.

It is the voice from your a*****e,

almost communicating with me as a deity,

once you s**t in my mouth,

I become a maiden

whose life your a*****e has enriched,

that I vow until death, to be a silhouette of a whom  became s**t from your a*****e.

In Fall, 

It is the harvest,

of secret self, or for the world to know,

that together we went to school,

together we played as girls,

that life is not complete unless a lesson,

or a story is proclaimed,

that mine was rectified by your shitting in my mouth.

In winter,

we know the bitterness of the heart,

that far from it being in pain,

I surrendered and took a chance,

that you would hold me under your arm pits and breasts,

and say to me my my precious girl,

receive my pee to taste your past,

as I consumed your s**t to remove the sorrow,

that as cataclysmic as only knowing love by the generosity of your a*****e's release.

It is  a love that though unworthy as I am was given by generosity.

A life which I received that was sanctimonious,

an experience of hope that your a*****e would s**t deeply into my soul.

So what of this cycle, these time signals, that span out for infinity,

How could I know or even love myself if you did not s**t in my mouth.

what other shape would life have been for me,

I can speak to  a love I have known,

to taste, and caress your a******s volume of loving kindness,

as my ascension into final days risen, 

but as the days and night your a*****e s**t into my mouth.