SHE RAINS

She rains like a little peacock down my chest.
I devour her lips like a bowl of green soup
and lap at the honeyed buds of her breasts.
I suckle on her clitoris like an infant eating switchblades
and explore the caverns that comprise
the pleasures of her underears.
In the midst of some strange octopus
I found her hairy orgasm
and danced it through a customs booth
in quivering thighs that shrank from soldiers' nightmares
and embraced hungry fingers.
Escape is a dream that screams through the tongues
that dance around each other's gums.