
This is how my mind gets silly
When my pen-is heavy and willing
To run nude on pages without courtesy
Unchaining my cerebral prowess in lust for sex
This poetry is solemn-
A black-art filled with light
That cuts pretty beyond episodes
Into the he(art) of heaven, you call soul
You shall scream chorus as cherubs
Singing my names in blues’ proverbs
That stir magic in dark edges of ages
Then will I grant free your milk-banks
Leaving your luscious oranges swaying
To the styles of my wants and bangs CHISOM,
i am not a spoilt egg
And sex ain’t game for the coward
But things we do for the spirits
We must do for the flesh
This is how my mind gets silly
When my pen-is heavy and willing
To run nude on pages without courtesy
Unchaining my cerebral prowess in lust for sex.



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