displayed her breasts like hanging game
fresh from the woods, arrows extracted,
but nobody could disagree that they'd be delicious
over a roaring grill with the right sauce
I misted her with my eyes
and, glazed, [du riechst so gut];
she smelled like fields of honey bees.
I'd wear her pelt with drooling face –
rabid with imagination's force-fact-fiction
circle like a vulture above a lost desert-tourist
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