Pleasure hormones rush my primate brain, and crush my nervous system with light-headed sensations and animal emotions. For five days millions of sperm overload my testes and spray photo-images of plump buttocks and shadowed gardens moistened between white thighs.
For five nights I am the desperate lover who waits for the smallings to drift away into the black in order to taste the spices of my garden. For five nights I wait, still thirsty, still hungry.
She finally wakes on the sixth night. I bury my lips and loose my tongue deep between her thighs. The dam breaks and the spring gushes. The gardens of bliss. My secret place.
I warm her bounty with gentle-white pearls and stain her hands with dribbles of the same. I thank her for the feast. She just blink.
Before drifting back into the black, in between the sheets.