Tongues dance freely across pink raped fields
Hands grasp & caress the fountains of flesh
Men abuse, rape, and plunder the hordes –
Of innocence playing gaily in the pools
Women squandered and spent, left out
In open heat, admired as precious
Roses & jewels.
Those that survived barely able to stand
Creaking, moaning, and rotting
With skin aged like leather.
The fountains of flesh
The pink raped fields
Wash away with their blood
Born again under new moon
And the men come again
Ready to finger, lick, and take
Whatever they wish …
Diving and driving fresh
Drooling over virtue
Ruining what they sought.