Black Poetry : *4 liviti*


New Member
Aug 17, 2001
New York City
Yuckie & Boogie Mango Love, Baby

**My Wet Request**

visions of you with no shirt drumming
meld with images of the African Fire God
drum warrior and leave me winded
high strung like an African breeze blowing sand at dusk
your hands are mud clay cloth painting a tribal image
on urban paint pails
a cool blue indigo trance twists
my dirty mind into a blazing trail
of physical fantasy
if I confess I want you, that I
can't even front on how heavy the frenzy is
to sex you in the shade of our secret garden
would you feel me?
feel me up Original Man and take me there
free my mind, take a lick
my honey pot being serviced by your pulsating chocolate stick
yo, violate this ********
western etiquette
fake correctness, **** it and push up on me
bring me to riverbanks and water falling on herbs
do me baby in the black night Kongo where
crickets make freak nasty music
as we set it off entwined
in pungent smells of queen mother earth's
jungle wet
forced whispers in the thickness, straining in the bush
the flow increases and tantalizes your third eye, blind
me to protocol and get animal, Original
Black man, stay that way, right there, yes
the only one, drench me with your
sensual spirit dripping tantric etheric loving
groping, I get lost in your darkness and swallow it up
can you save this sister sinner craving and strung out
on your natural asiatic elixir lust religion?
getting me high but I will not be damned because of greed
to ecstasy unfulfilled, salacious visceral fleshy need
speak to me in the husky lush voice of the Ndoki
and bless my groves with the sweat swollen edges
of your native tongue
sipping from the wicked delicious tip of salvation
your blackberry juice from a *Guyanese* bone
hot rod heat seeking to pierce my center
enter my tender swamp where you are my savior, and I am
in a missionary position
when I come, I am resurrected tonight
deliverance to gritty shores of arched back bliss
and the frothy waters of my love juice
mirror my jones to get it on
tongue you down and ride long and hard
bucking false traditions
cause third dates ain't coming before I do
right now is on point
as I enjoy this carnal time warp of ancestral
generation gyration
back to the dance of Adam
my Coptic Kushite Adamic Khemetic Original Son of Set
shockwaves spiral downward to a moist embryonic frolic of Moor



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