That sin excite me,sexual ego sex up.
When I fellate, I heaven'd on the earth.
Just like how player needed golden cup,
so do my body needed sexy girth.
Each morning I desire lolita's act.
Midday, I do search out for foreplay girl.
At dusk, with sexy worker, I react.
At night time only dirty bed my pearl.
But deadly hell fire belong I evermore.
Reward of sinners are but to pass on.
What profit shall I inbox when one more
earth I regain but lost eternal Bon.
In God's own kingdom, I shall put my head.
Let God's excite prevail my dirty bed.
Words hidden within one’s soul
One’s voice with expression in behold
The wonders in what is established within one’s mind
The picture being how the words are combined
The confidence in being assured
A Poet who sees beyond the T & I
It is the encouragement called inspiration
A climax providing anticipation
Now that I have your attention
It’s what’s in the Poet’s words
It’s the reader ear’s that need too be heard
A child who stood up
A parent who heard close up
My words that endure
My understanding in how I must mature
Words being a relaxing cure
A reason too live and an opportunity too give
This is a Poet’s write
The instill of delight
Seeing respect in being polite
The connection of words in the horizon sight
A Poet being more than the letter P
They are individuals with perfection talent for all to see
Value being the quality of one’s talent that is truly developed
Let’s not forget and always remember
“Words are not truly words unless an open heart that understands”
“Let sentences go not without the solid withstand”
We are Poet’s and our words being character as our caravan.
I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.
Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.
Thanks for your support, bro ~
but the Ayatollah hasn't been lifted the fatwā,
so y'allz better lay your ass low.