Mouths meet,
chests touch,
bellies touch,
cocks touch.
The sweet fires that rise within us become one, and engulfs us in a red hot swirling column.
Every fibre in our bodies want to merge.
Physical love.
Physical devotion.
Physical worship.
Spiritual happiness.
I smell this God’s natural perfume
the sweet heavy scent of musk
the earthy fragrance of wet body hair.
Oh my God.
How I wish to please you.
A landscape – his scrotum. A symmetric chaos of tiny hills and valleys. Pure potential and fertility. Next to my face.
Rising tall above – His cock. A monument to his beauty. A testament to his power.
A meshwork – Its veins. Like underground rivers of lava. They radiate with the heat of living, heaving flesh.
A nexus – the glans. A cluster of nerve endings. A portal to heaven. Resting on my tongue.
Liquid glass – one tiny drop fluid. Pure desire, and with a promise… transmuted into viscous substance. Bridging my lips.
Oh my God.
I am now closest I can possibly be to you.
God’s massive manhood forces its way down my eager throat. Like a heaving, churning engine. Hard against soft, energies of force and submission, giving and taking, in constant friction, in a swirling, cosmic dance.
God’s cock swells and contracts as if breathing. An earth shattering throb, and God’s creation flows forth. A river of potential, the nectar of the heavens.
Oh my God.
I hear your voice and sighs echoing in the skydome.
Somewhere a Big Bang has just occurred, and a new universe has been born. And that somewhere is right here, right now. I rise to face Him. I gaze into his beautiful eyes, and they show only gratitude.
Oh my…
I am a God.
Making love to a divine man can be like this, a soaring high, merging together with the One.
The Windhover
BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS
To Christ our Lord
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
The dad in the checked shirt is for me. Sexy huge dick. My kind of man!
The stud with the dreadlocks is a stunning God.
Rock on brother.
HaPenis to all.