Terracotta Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

His lower arm hugged her upper hip
the humid air was too much to decline
beckoning of her quivering lip
her sweaty smell pouring like wine.

Her subtlest press lighted million spark
his reciprocating started fire
her lobes tinged with blush mark
nothing more the two could aspire.

Centuries old embedded in stone
posteriors arching for thrust
cracked alive in pleasure's moan
sunk in the deep gorge of lust.