By Mr Anonymous
Thai Girl, it’s neither simple to reflect on my dependence on you, nor easy to admit to your powers. I feel subdued by your black, shining hair, lost in the darkness of ages, overlooked by a subtle smile. I’m trailing other farangs in a senseless pursuit, ignoring judgment and reason, floating in your warm tunnels, abandoned in tight glimpses of enjoyment.
Samson of Gaza, Anthony Caesar of Rome, Edward King of England – have we all lost our senses, stripped of our muscles, shaved off our mane? Oh, you Delilah, Cleopatra, Mrs. Simpson – the lions and tigers behold in disappointment and disbelief.
I’m a self-sufficient creature in this jungle of concrete, roaming around like a lion, making a buck like a tiger, consuming country music like an elephant and seem not to fear my tomorrows. Yet, I long for your thighs, whose round angles just shake up my spirit and drive me insane. I must grab your tits in outbursts of passion, attempting escape with their softness and warmth in an endless pilgrimage to this tunnel, that tightness, leading my ecstasy into rhythms of uncontrollable sparks coupled with an unwelcome serenity.
Your passive strength overwhelms my spirit and ignites no line of defence while my yearnings gush in a pathetic race with my heartbeats lost in a wilderness of purpose.
Come on, Cleopatra, transmit from ages far gone that your power is ever lasting, admit that my sigh of despair strikes no cord in your heart.