the trunk

dying of bad thirst

i squat down slowly

over my toes,

unwrapping canopies, 

i tore up inflammably 

the most ineffable cover, 

tracking the route

in little dark bushes,

i sensed something

so rock-hard, 

touching that trunk

with the tip of my nose, 

with the thoughts of 

being sweet or salty, 

alluring or appealing, 

tempting or tangy,

i just need liquids 

to fill my throat, 

my lips died of waters, 

they needed something

more fluid chemical 

falling drop by drop, 

incensing me note by note, 

i pasted my lips over

that beasty trunk and 

felt its lifted dendrites

by placing over my cheeks, 

and warmed my neck

slowly moving it all around, 

but i was dying of thirst, 

i couldn't count for even seconds, 

just opened my mouth, 

so wide as i'm about to boak

or as it's the last

trunk of this world carrying

holy and pious waters, 

i took it in my mouth, 

squeezing and making 

my lips so tight, 

i giggled looking up,

he said, "I'm turning too wild! "

i said, "I'm your fellator 

for rest of your life! "

then it had been an hour 

i couldn't find myself starved, 

i had been slurping so hard

as i was dying of thirst, 

he had been quenching me

as he is meant to slake my thirst. 

- chetna 🌻