Liquid

I thought I was lucid in Patpong, though maybe I was hallucinating when I thought I saw this maiden blowing the vagina smoke ring blues. She came up to me when she was through and said, "Do you smoke?" and I said, "Well, not like you." And then in my ear she whispered, "Let's get liquid. Ooh ooh, let's get liquid." So we went to her pharmacy upstairs. She took my prescription and filled it. 

She had that electric texture of velvet
when rubbed against the grain, and I felt it.
The flower entered the air and filled it.
Lance shivered against shield as we tilted.
My farmer found her furrow and tilled it.  
I opened her book and I shelved it.
Her passion a pink open pistachio. I unshelled it.
She made my Johnny Walker Red  and then she swilled it.
She raced my engine and derailed it. 
She measured my beat and she held it.
She climbed my steeple and she belled it.
She stamped my package and she mailed it. 
She blazed my sequoia and she felled it. 
I plugged in my tool and I drilled it. 
I hammered her board and she nailed it. 
She read my fantasy and fulfilled it,
applied my  blueprint as she built it.
She fitted my Nino and she sailed it 
over the edge of the sea, she propelled it.
Oooooh oooooooh I heard her shout it
(or maybe that was me) 
And then our substances melded,
congealed together, we were welded,
but that was the moment we melted.
The orchid exploded and wilted. 
And she slid loose, she slipped free.
And we drifted. Oh, we were liquid!

And I thought I was lucid in Bangkok. But maybe I was hallucinating.

--Duane Vorhees