Rhythm on the Half Shell

I’m thinking lips sweet brushing lips, sweet tasting lady on the soft curve.

I’m thinking movement rocks and movement rolls, thinking soft skin-to-skin embrace, woven limbs on wet terrain.

Ain’t nothing so fine as rhythm on the half shell.

I’m thinking mornings magic curves uncovered by the pulsing pulsing breeze.

I’m thinking melting into soft churning blend on beautiful hair swept face.

Ain’t nothing so sweet as rhythm on the half shell.