The Unicorn
The noise like distant thunder, is the only sound,
of its unshod hooves, as they cover open ground.
Mane of liquid fire, head down running in the night,
its golden spiral horn, glistens in veiled moonlight.
Upon its back a maiden, gripping with her thighs,
her face wreathed in smiles, as onward she flys.
Princess of the Unicorn, naked on its back to ride,
at one with its motion, her beauty you cannot hide.
Across the open plains, until they rest at first light,
a land of Algolagnia, her domain to reign each night.
So if on the moors, you hear a distant thunder roll,
look for the Unicorn and the pleasures of the soul.
bkewl.
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