that level of
instinctive response,
proud, I write essay
with my tongue, I travel
in upper tier salivating circles,
short tongue jabs, as I leap off
the Authors Den page to your clump
of pussy, you're damp, wildflowers there
aren't the main attraction for me, it's your
creative creature newly awakened, your
peeper, wood frog shows for the spring
mating rites in waters you just released, a 
ream away from my keyboard, I am treated
to a close-up view, your peeper calls to me from
far back in the tangle of bush, you explode from
orgasm from one end to the other, puddle-size
depression...I dig into you and hibernate, compelled
by a frantic urge to f*** you in the woods astir with
frogs, my face in your thick, sweet pepperbrush...It's
Sage You Know...

I...


Copyright 2007 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist