The many ways of pleasure,
the waves of bliss and ecstasy;
tongue lapping,
fingers probing,
a foot rubbing against my vulva—
that delicious feeling,
that outpouring of oxytocin.
The many ways of pleasure,
partaking in its joy and delight;
the thrill, the danger—
playing with scissors, knifes and sickles,
and courting snakes—they hide
among the erect bamboo plants.
The many ways of pleasure,
those promises of fulfilment;
I found them—
in my canvas, paint and brush.