His Prayer in Her Sacred Temple

Ripped from many pages saying “I Love You”

Sex-machine bombshell femininity fountain non-stop erotica ball emptier, grace, beauty … all these things strike my mind when I remember You.
You seem like bursting out with feminine raw sexual power ready to erupt and wipe-out cities and villages.

Violent display of chiseled woman chassis. Daring core magnetism to taboo. Warnings of a resilient encounter with sex's soaring pleasures. Arabian night-ish silhouette defining a woman in flesh and bones as sweet as honey as soft as butter.
Breasts like distant hills men would crawl to summit. Flawless powerful thighs shrouded with virgin milky skin built to be wrap masculine waists. Arms and shoulders carved out of infinity to match what would be a mesmerizing woman's tentacles. A pair of mile-long legs, sturdy with stream like effortless outlines, a clone of timeless Roman pillars, and in between them lies a dogmatic everlasting mystery many would sacrifice their lives for.

A paradox of a paralleled existence, one would enter into a dimension-less world, once tasted the juicy folds of delicate skin, that form the tunnel of love's entrance to lustful passion. Lips as poisonous as the ancient Serpent, baring a diabolical smile inviting the strongest of all men to surrender their arms, and enter willingly into the realms of submission.
For the eyes that have mesmerized hordes of men, is unmatched even by Medusa. Time stops once stared into them, so does one's heart, for their magic attraction would out power any efforts in vain, and would rip men's hearts out of their chests, only to be owned by she whom must be obeyed.

Hmm ...no. Words cannot describe you. They cannot do you any justice. The battle is uneven; my words are overwhelmed by what my eyes behold. I died during battle, but at least, I died trying.

Drowned in your lust,