True Story: Dick Heads in the Garden


Poppies in the Garden Northern summers are limited, and the potential for pleasant surprise does not have the luxury of time and slow ease of wait and see observation. The intrusive pale green shoots that force their way up through the perennial daisies return. Fine — grow — show me something: make me leave you there.

Poppies in the Garden


I am rewarded with giant flower buds — down covered and silky smooth. They sway in the breeze like a gathering of so many cock-heads, and I cannot help but stroke each one as I would a lover.  I imagine that under the moon they ooze sweet drops of come. When they bloom, the pink petals fold down on themselves like heavy lips that try, but rarely succeed in guarding the sweet core.  A gently slid finger reveals satin skins, rich pollens, a drop of moisture. A place perhaps where fairy tongues have lingered.





About Lily Lick

Lily Lick has always been interested in the physical extension of emotional interactions, which yes, is just a fancy way of saying something else. She thinks it's freaking fantastic that she gets to combine some of the things she loves the most: reading, writing, astrology stuff... and yes, sex. She does them all in Toronto, Canada.
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3 Responses to True Story: Dick Heads in the Garden

  1. Wow. I’m in awe. You naturally think this way? Since when are females so whimsically sexual?

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