Black Poetry : The Game (for grown folks)

Jazz4u

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Aug 15, 2003
185
0
Atlanta
lips caressing syllables
softly croon
r i g h tthere
spilling out rhythmic
instructions
among exhales
and
inhales
and
arched backs
I w a n tyou
echoes from bare skin
to
the palms of your hands
as I follow the tug
and pull of your
di-(E)rections
fingernails run firmly
across backs as if
moans could never be enough
to dictate what
sign language can
and as trembles
exceed verbal commands
I am left asking
is it my turn to
l i c k
s u c k
whateva I demand​
 

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