A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

The Cities we grown to love and hate at the same time:


We live in corrupt city folks
keeping the guns at the ready while we sleep:
is our mojo:
while the nightlight burn bright

We speak different languages
While listening to some nasal accents
These are our neighbors, the city dwellers
You and I, we are the foreigners of the city
Inside us we long for our homeland:

There goes the fast moving yellow cab in the city
Driven by the visitors: the ones with the bad accents
We knew all along, we are not free
From the stares, and the resentment of I.C.E: enforcement:

It quiet inside, it loud out there and when we
Opened our mouth we are the loud people
that speak the language of our ancestor:

Before them city Judges: we are judge, we are label:
We are the aliens, 1 Chronicles 29:15

We are foreigners and strangers in your sight,
as were all our ancestors. Our days on earth are like a shadow without hope. *

We speak the languages with some nasal accents:
this morning the spirit of my ancestor came calling:
it time to follow my heart..

A yellow belly cardinal launches itself at my window
Pecks away at the old window pane,
Should I chase the intruder away?
Or should I make him the subject of my next poem
He became my inspiration, and I his adversary
It slurred whistled phrases calm my inner soul

After a while the pecking annoys my daughter’ cat
So, here I am compromising myself and not caring
Because I am about to compose a piece:
About war and peace: title
Fluffy and the **** bird
I took out my camera and zoom in on its beady eyes,
and realize that it was as blind as a bat

Teeth-chattering, tail going from side to side,
doing the war dance this **** cat,
A blind cardinal with a sweet melody
what more can I asked for, but to watch and learn
from the intruder, the spoil feline and the observer,

A yellow belly cardinal launch at my window
Pecks away at the old window pane,
Should I chase the intruder away?
Or let my daughters’ cat razz it?

The littlest things we dream about, that was so dear
Can be detrimental, because of modern technology
The lack of touch, the loss of sound, gone forever:

Last night

Last night wasn’t like any other night
I was like a tower of strength
I took hold of the rein and
mastered a very difficult task

I sigh as I watch you snore
I took a sip of red wine
felt very satisfy,
While, the lion slept
the pleasure was all mine

Abortion for some is a stubborn memory,
Mistakes, a mishap, a brutal ****,
Shameful memories that wasn’t call for
Unwanted Fetus, no more abortion
Said the lawmakers

No more jobs, for the clinics
no more work for the undertakers:
no more daily entries to birth registry
Women, has the right to choose
Lawmakers has the power to brutally
Say we don’t care: closed all abortion clinics down

Let the fetus grows, and become a man
And brutally **** again,
Lawmakers had the power to choose
A ****** can continue to **** and impregnated again:

*Charles Dickens (1812–70)
QUOTATION:
If the law supposes that,” said Mr. Bumble,… “the law is a ***—a idiot. If that’s the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is that his eye may be opened by experience—by experience

Some of us let the summer month’s gets to your head
As we feel the heat we become one with nature
Naked, green and unapologetic,
a kind of trend which most people follow,
and hard for the some of us to swallow

Like all other things the summer heat can
Make the darkest man visible, the sleaziest worm
Crawl to the surface, for a dark tan
But it surely cans nectar the honey for  the Gods
Fall is upon us, as our joints began to ache,

Halloween is a drawing near,
Am I the only one whose seem to care?
The fly flies settle down under the broad leaves
And here I am the green poet from New York is visiting Tennessee

Those Hot summer bikini bodies, is now as cold as Niagara Falls  
We fret as we began to throw down, the last of the summer days
Creeping backs into our jean and Woolly Love Heart Jumper:

Suddenly, here come the hurricane months, September,
October and November all with they uncertainties
  
As I kept expressing my feeling into poetry,
With my frequent minds pop no matter how strange
Embrace them I probably will do the same.

Holding hands is not just for crossing the street
But to squeeze each other hands under the sheet
Is the little joy we find these days in contentment:

Sometimes when we wake up to the world of politic
And the men in charge has nothing good to say

“Look out, your window, look around at your back porch
Then look up above,  look at the ground
And repeat these few word, ashes to ashes
Dust to dust, God whom cans us trust?
Helplessly we are caught in a web of lies

Never stir up an ant’s nest, when it’s peaceful
Or poke the most venomous snake in the world
Because you can, what about the common folks,
Who wasn’t included in your plans?

We do not have the resources like their do,
To be sitting like target ducks, waiting, waiting and waiting
Oh, God of Glory, how much more can we endure?
How soon, how soon will doth douse water on the open fire
Just to signal smoke of peace:

Sometimes when we awoke to a world of political injustice
And tears comes to our eyes, as we feel the tightness of the ropes
Once again our heart began to build more hate
We fear for the unborn, we say goodbye to ours elderly

While this earth saturate the innocent blood of the wounded
The devil with the golden hair said
"no ducks is safe in the gallery:

I am the poem, the naked poem
Feel the poetic tone. From the moment
you laid eyes on me.
The break lines and the awkward feeling,
you get throughout each stanza,
represent my beautiful nakedness

Then comes the unprovoked aggression of my actions,
Never blanket my words,
let my audience feel the power of my strength
I am the poem that can never be ban
I rather you wouldn’t strip my words from the truth,
but embrace it with an open mind

When words go blind
Tracing one ideas: or ignoring
Would be so hard to recalled
Through darkness one will fumble
Leaving a life of consequences
Visionless: exactly; exactly

Does faith make us stronger?
I do not trust my work place
Ten percent of us do the right thing
And ninety percent do not give a ****
So, be smart take care of yourself

Take that ten percent for you and your family
Break down your life in four parts
Love yourself first,
Be vigilant,
No more giving others 100 percent of you:

Make every hour in the day work for you.
Always take half an hour to look in the mirror
Before going on to the next hour..
The man or woman in the mirror


As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.” ~Proverbs 27:1

Memo, memos on the wall: I remember them all
That led up to this day of diversification
My way of life is about to be changed:
What about us, and how about them

What about homeland security?
  Are we safe from hate?
it's happening all over again: strange judgement call.

It’s cloudy and dreary Wednesday morning: a city mourns
Or is it torn?

It seems like the country refuses, to pay the piper once again
So, his magical flute would lead the children down a path of darkness,
Our hearts are in despair, how we can leave our worries aside:
Rats, they had fought the dogs, and yes they have known to **** the cats

A lesson to be learned from an old believable nursery rhyme
Who hired the Pied piper, must pay paid the man on time.
In country in which we live is more divided than ever.
You’ve made your bed, now lie in it. America

The Pain of Being in Love
With Someone You Can Never Be With.

You might think you are not thinking, but you are.
Lonely nights, wishful days thinking and planning,
Of how your life should have been,

There are two kinds of pain, but there are three kinds
of lovers, pain, insanity and
there is love in you waiting to give…
Suddenly you think of them as one
Falling in love, feeling the pain, and going insane...

Love is a very painful, insanity is rare
However, True love is a choice,
Lovers' festival is for true lovers,
Pain, Love, And Insanity of Red heart’s day

I am not going to clean out the closet during the winter months
Everything is frozen solid,
I will wait until spring; I will wait, you will wait with me,
and watch as the dust bunnies unfold by summertime,
It wouldn’t be too long now, before winter makes her exit.
Unfortunately, waking up to this headline Kanye west
Thinks that slavery was a choice,
His phraseology: is this his finally thoughts
Sometimes, we just have to keep our words frozen

Conceal, don’t feel, and don’t let them know
Well now they know Demi DeVito

From the looks in his eyes:
The world knows he is not a well man

I’m going to write a poem about peace,
Peace is what this world needs now
And Kanye need a little hibernating
He need a little rest….
.
**yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue

It is May Day
Not a sign of the tulips blooming
The sun won’t stay behind the clouds forever,
Said the weatherman  
What the hell do they know”.

I woke up with the intention of burning
The African scented candle stick: forgetting
That I didn’t purchased them yesterday:

Darkness fell upon this May morn
The air is cold and gloomy: somehow my
Favorite visitors took time from the morning routine,

Landed on my window and sang to me

I texted my brother and reminded him
To water the roses,
Trimmed the dry leaves,
On my outdoor patio upstairs

I remember  May Day long ago
When I finally broke the *****
I have pondered about that old lover
From time to time: with a genuine smile
So far my memories is kind to me,

There is a picture of a rooster on the kitchen wall
it reminds me of my grandmother kitchen
Where food wasn’t an abundant
Despite adversity:  
but lots of love was there in that old house:

Dark sky can dampen one spirit.
However, a hot cup of coffee, a keyboard
Can boost ones energy,
Composing a poem, a happy poetess
Or a game of slots can brings out the art of creativity
As she takes on the morning with a few
Words, a few lines, hoping to put a smile
On the faces of sadness

He said to me  " Come and take my hands
and walked with me under the rented Caribbean moon
for the emerald moon at night has the power to heal wounded spirits

I took a trip to the land of my birth at least once a year,
Where the beating sun scorched my skin into an even tone
and the North America cold snap it back in place
during the winter months.

I love it when the aircraft slowly descent over the small Island
Those nostalgic feelings get to me all the time,
I often wondered if the Islanders knew of my arrival
He waits for me in that sunny room,
where the window curtain blow in and out in a timely manner,
The room scent, a light, fragrant aroma of lavender,
and the fresh saw dust welcome me home.

How many more secret can we store there?
a quiet place to let my worries go,
a place to make me smile, perhaps then
I shall always welcome those sweet tears of joy
And he being there with me makes
my Island trips more pleasurable
Sunny days and memorable Caribbean evening,
I became that romantic poem every poet thought of writing.

Today, I saw a man on top of his rooftop
Whirling snow off with a string
He seems to have given it a lot of thought

Then I remember my father pouring tar on the roof top
Of our house: but that was for another reason
To prevent a leaking roof during heavy rain

The small buckets my mother would line up to
Catch the water, oh the little things we remember
From our childhood, oh the little smile we get
When we speak of the dearly departed

The mind of the poet never leaks the emotions
of love that flashes by:
As he held on to old memories like no other

We stare into the ceiling without looking at each other

Slowly you place your hands between my legs of burning desire,

I saw a portrait of your youth, as the silence engulf us:

My guilty pleasure, your disobedient hands,  

In a few hours you will become a man.

I didn’t cause this silence; our hearts were entwining (:)



My guilty pleasure, the portrait of your youth

A mother’s warmth, or just a cougar fantasy

Who made all the rules, society or us



The hearts asked for pleasure first,  

Then comes the sacrament of confession.  

my African prince of Lloren, Kwara, my vision



I will not accept that one and one should be two

A double plantain so jointly attached is still one

Love is not a substance, but at times comes off as one.

Therefore, from this day forward

I will treat love like a commodity  

Basis facts my guilty pleasure, your disobedient hands

Manly as ever, one day you will be my man. (:)  

As we walk the sandy beaches of Togo:

Just remember, one plus one doesn't add to two:

After last night’s rain the street
Smell like one of those booth peop holes on
42nd street:  Curiosities smear the cat:

This morning the sun is trying to make a
Break through: the pile of trash await
The landfill: just like the daily flushes
Of the unused pills:

We never give up. Our bodies are gradually dying,
but we ourselves are being made stronger each day
2 Corinthians 4:16:

Ten days to forget this cold: and dream of summer tides,
With a genuine smile, with gratification
I just want to forget this relentless extremely cold weather
not having to wait patiently for spring,
Which always leave me in apathetic state
  without my build in control: I am undone:
I struggle with my feelings, for my man’s servant
Open his eyes, LORD, so that he may see.

“Then the LORD opened the servant's eyes,
and he looked and saw …that I wasn’t really his Queen
but the ice  poet: his mere presence upsets me

*"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." — Albert Camus

There is a dream called Love.)

There is a dream call loved
There is hope and there is despair
Within all these that is said

These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from Me.
They worship me in vain;
they teach as doctrine the precepts of men.’
Another wonder scripture Quote

There is a dream call loved,
As human being some of us long for it
Some endure the worst for it
Just to hear someone say
“I love you. An antidote:
Love is the Antidote to Criticism and Judgment
Love is a weapon to hurt the one we love

You always hurt the one you love, the one you should not hurt at all;
You always take the sweetest rose, and crush it till the petals fall;
You always break the kindest heart, with a hasty word you can't recall;
So if I broke your heart last night, it's because I love you most of all." —Mills Brothers
?�J ?

There is no grass left for them

There is no beginning to an end of the trolls
It’s today, it’s this morning, and it was also yesterday
They were putting the poet’s poems into the earth
Our creative work, curled like sour milk.

I don't understand what the troll motivation was
For crushing our dreams deep into the ground;
Without giving us the plus and minus grades,

Frederick Herzberg came to me in a dream
and whispered these words:
Satisfaction and motivation
One remark he made before he vanishes from my dream
He asked me if I knew how to get rid of sour milk smell?

There is no happiness in keeping
ill-feeling inside:
There is no joy in pretense
Only regret and resistance of change:

Happiness is when what you think, what you say,
and what you do are in harmony.”
―Mahatma Gandhi

Was I a happy child?
I was always caught in the middle
Always pondering, the next move,
Looking for that safe haven,

My life start off in fourth row
My mother fourth child:
My father six seeds:
Trying to find my way was hard:
I remember climbing on to the rooftop,
to seek answers about my position #4
It was a scary kind of calmness up there,
Those emotional upheaval moments of my life
Had come to mold me:  yet uneven as today:

Going up there was easy, getting down was the challenge:
Aquarius is well-known to carries water in order to cleanse and renew.
Every three to four year I have to cleanse myself from toxic relationships
I read somewhere, that toxic folks: are referred as the energy vampires
And as you know I hate those Lamias:
Faces like a sap dog, and sinking blow fish.

There is no happiness in keeping
ill- feeling inside:
There is no joy in pretense
Only regret and resistance of change:

Happiness is when what you think, what you say,
and what you do are in harmony.”
―Mahatma Gandhi

Happy Black Friday my poetic friends..

Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough
for another thought or poetry in my head,*

Up came this documentary poem
The Wednesday of May 24 was the day
President Trump meets with the pope Francis
at the Vatican: smiles and pleasantries aside
Who’s coming up with these lies?
Who have ties
with Russia and Putin?
We the outsiders are still unclear
about another golden buzzer:
But under a crystalline blue sky is where
Pope Francis and the President meet
Here I tipped my pen to
MARK LANDLER and JASON HOROWITZ
Reporting….
The fraught silence in political history

The way I read your mind
Is the same as sign language in your poetry?

Poetry is the chiseled marble of language;
It’s a paint-spattered canvas - but the poet uses words instead of paint,
and the canvas is you:

You borrow a phrase, and hanged it like a gibbet,
That meant nothing for us: it was so ribbit ,ribbit
You sat there on the log and watch as the frogs
Jump from Lilly pad to lily pad: in the dusky fog
The frozen frogs’ moves, your words croaked

we decipher your deepest fears,
so why do you filled the pond with the splashing tears?

As one within a crowded world
    I lived my life alone;
Some of my dream were fulfilled
In ways I never would expected
Many a time I thought that,
I found my true calling.
I lived, a shelter life
if you only knew, the truth
The road, the pain, the silent games
Of staying alive ….in the hateful America
Looks of disappointment: in every lane

it took me three years to land a decent job
I was always doing the odds and end
Just to make end meets..

I remember once the agency assigned to a case
A toddler without any ears, just two years old
You would think that her white parents would
Change their ways, after what was handed to them
I arrived on time, did what was expected of me for the child
When it was time for me to take a lunch break
The child parent said to me:
“Sorry but you can’t eat your lunch indoor
Go outside on the steps.. We are Jewish  

I was allowed to take care of her child needs
But I wasn’t allowed to eat in her house..
I listen, I took it all in stride..
And I smile, what happen next
Was just commonsense
I took my black *** and my lunch bag
And walked away from the situation
Never to be heard of again.
We all have encounter racism in this country

The road, the pain, the bigotry of low expectation
I swore on that day, that
I would never allowed any white person
to belittle that way again: so I quit the agency
They apologies to me, as they seldom do falls flat..
But, knowing what my grandfather taught me

I had to move forward..
I had to keep away from white folks like them: just for sanity..
And not allowed my black hands to ever again
Touch her white baby….

When I said I lived my life alone
I lived it:  I saw it; I flush it out of my mind
Just to live in this world of bigots
I am who I am.. I am worthy.

As one within a crowded world
    I lived my life alone;
Some of my dream was fulfilled
In ways I never would expected
Many a time I thought that,
I found my true calling.
I lived, a shelter life
if you only knew, the truth
The road, the pain, the silent games
Of staying alive ….in the hateful America
Looks of disappointment:

it took me three years to land a decent job
I was always doing the odds and end
Just to make end meets..

I remember once the agency assigned to a case
A toddler without any ears, just two years old
You would think that her white parents would
Change their ways, after what was handed to them
I arrived on time, did what was expected of me for the child
When it was time for me to take a lunch break
The child parent said to me:
“Sorry but you can’t eat your lunch indoor
Go outside on the steps.. We are  Jewish
I was allowed to take care of her child needs
But I wasn’t allowed to eat in her house..
I listen, I took it all in stride..

And I smile, what happen next
Was just commonsense
I took my black *** and my lunch bag
And walked away from the situation
Never to be heard of again.
We all have encounter racism in this country

The road, the pain, the bigotry of low expectation
I swore on that day, that I would never allowed any whites person
to feel that way again: so I quit the agency
They apologies to me, as they seldom do falls flat..
But, knowing what my grandfather taught me

I had to move forward..
I had to keep away from white folks like them: just for sanity..
And not allowed my black hands to ever again
Touch her white baby….
When I said I lived my life alone
I lived it:  I saw it; I flush it out of my mind
Just to live in this world of bigots

The secret of being a senior

There is always one more death to make that long sigh!
We fret over ever little things
We stay awake and cry when we ought to be laughing
Our humanistic way of coping with life: (perhaps)

How Old Is Mrs. Claus?
Mrs. Claus is 1,136 years young!
We will never grieve for the Mr. and Mrs. Claus
They will forever live in our hearts,
Fictional but pleasing to the young

When we were in our youth
Going to the doctors never really apply to us
So we put N/A  on every line..
We define the lack of trust in them

Trust is collapsing in America these days
How many more times can we believe in the governments leaderships?
I did build my wall, not because he says to do it.
It my bank note, it my reminder that evil exist in all of us.

We often tried teaching the youth a little thing or two
Wisdom comes from age, suffering and with its memories of pain.

My daughter friend just turns twenty one, beautiful, yet green
She thinks that she is ready to take on the world
I told her to slow down, and look around: (this new normal is fierce)
Twenty-one is just a number, being wise is another thing
Wisdom emerges not from experience itself.
  by working towards it:

The secret of being a senior, we don’t have to worry
About the female cycled, or getting pregnant
We can cry for no reason: and wrinkle out gracefully…

The secret of poetry

Self-discipline, self-hatred
is nothing but negative energy:
He seem hammered standing there on the podium
We all stood there quietly waiting,
shifting from one foot to another,
Suddenly, I recalled the Pied Piper of Hamelin
and there we was about to be
Lured into another poet’s madness
Persuasion and performances
What came next brought the crowd to order
He said *******, *******, and **** all of you.
I think I can still hear the record scratch sound effect
coming to a halt .... then he said
“Can silence actually drive you crazy?

Come, let us plant the seed of love,

let's create what some scientist said that was impossible

Let our love show in a magnificent way

Let it be healthy, wealthy and wise in coming years

It would be tears, it would be joy,

He would be our love joy and our sweet boy:

There is madness, there is happiness,

However, as we all know, happiness is found in the

Madness of one's life.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”


― Friedrich Nietzsche



Enter me with the warmth of your love,

Deposit the gift of life, as you seed flow and reach the tubes,

One smart egg will bond to become our next generation



Why would we do this, why?

Love like this is rare,

Come, let us plant the seed of your love  

And we shall see our blessing of tomorrow.

Are you ready for fatherhood,  

Are you ready for the responsibility

Are you ready to believe that one plus one  

Equal three, are you ready kuku?

So, let's plant the seed of love.

We plant this seed, on the bed of  

Residency the Blessing, on the coolest night

In Accura, near the Gulf of Guinea,

A sign of life, a sign of hope,

You should plant this seed,

It could be a future doctor

who would  cure, senseless disease

A politician who can change numerous things

As he travels the world for free,

And speak up about the country economy  

Or become the better poet, than his mother

Could ever be, Lord blessed thee!

One day his grandchildren will ask

Who was my grandparents, thank God

For them, that hour, when they planted the seeds.

Poetry is one of the *** position that most of us
Is afraid of trying, we squirm to the ideas of
Giving it a go: the *** in poetry goes …..
from the low pitch, to the high volume
Of ecstasy, it doesn’t always have to
Be after dark, it was said that the gay men

And women enjoy *** more than the straight men
Implicit and boldly imaginative: hashtag
the straight men and women

Sugar level is low, while the gay men and women
Level is high on excitement; it’s all about the enjoyment
Poetry is *** to new ideas of acceptance,

A lady in the street, but a freak under the sheets,
Shyness in the voice, to a loud thunderous conclusion
Of mumbling words: asking for help from the almighty

Tomorrow, someone is going to look into their baby’s face
And called him or her Poetry, after a night of ***,
The toes curling *******, to face images of Satanism
While clinching on for dear life: Poetry is life
Staying alive, be not afraid of poetry…..


*What *** is, we don't know, but it must be some sort of fire. For it always communicates a sense of warmth, of glow. And when the glow becomes a pure shine, then we feel the sense of beauty." -- D. H. LAWRENCE

To see how the sun went down in violence
on the west side of Chicago inner city
As I stood there in misbelieved with my
Poet’s pen, observing and documenting:

The situation was getting out of hand:
loud crashing sound became a shamble
  of small glassy diamonds glittered
in the  heat of the night:

  The longing, restless soul,
Chanted no justice, no ******* peace
Repeats like my ancestors drums,:

The sun went down on the town
Like the pied piper of Hamlin
As the youth, cry out for justice,
the merchant cry out to Jesus
to save their  fine  pearls,
the family legacy”
as the the restless crowd moved on with the crimes
Looting, fighting and misbehaving.

The police officers planted more rocks
On every corner, of the streets,
No justice no peace

Marching with the youths with their
Pants hanging low, in solidarity
.Ignoring the warning of the authorities
Their faces rage with anger.
Their mind made up.....

Long Lasting pepper spray set in like a finish touch
The crowd grew larger and larger..
The sun went down with blood shed
    While I stood there capturing history of the restless
  
Moaning for their mothers arms while
Pleading, resisting, please officers,
“What’s all this all for
Black lives don’t matter..

Come when my heart is full of grief
Because love is confusing, love is a thief
Look into my eyes, my darling

Let us sail that ocean of love that never divides us
We would never, say never because my
beauty isn't all it appears to be,
Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see
It’s the warmth of the hearts,
That ignites the tender spark
So the fire of passionate love may start

Words of love come so easily to you.
However, for us love do not come at all
Love isn't what love songs tell us it is.
It’s not the magical music video, where
boys meet girl and fall deeply in love:

Where heart-shaped balloon arch, decorated the
fire place, as they make love on the white furry
rug in front of that big flaming fireplace:

The heart knows what it wants, and the heart want
a connection between the two hearts
Yours and mine
Happy
Valentine’s Day

There is tropical warmth
Inside my heart, that
Only an Island girl can understand
Why we eat the mango, the way in which we do it:
Making that small hole at the top, as the sweet juice
Sipped into our mouth, Like fresh breast milk

Mangoes help you unclog your pores
and add freshness to the face.
The internet is changing the way in which we think
Too much **** information, on things
That we already know from long ago:

Knife and fork to eat my mango;
Yeah right!!! Leave my island mango alone
Tourist westerner man!

Not once did I mention
the relationship between the island girl, the warmth
or the joy we gets from eating a mango…
but I will let you in on a little secret
it's the Organic ******* with the timing...

Is it that in some quiet moment
We think of death, leaving our love ones
Even our enemies, seeing them missing us

There and then we think of the will
Our assets, or debts our obituary
Or last will and testimony

To add or plus and minus we
Divided our love into groups
Should I let the neighbor have the dog?

Or set the pouch free: to pondered its love
Knowingly,  he was the only immortal
Who truly love others unconditionally?
Bit and pieces of the truth in an instant

The ******.
They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
beholder, however the ******
is a gold mine.

Women do not even know
what their possess
many a nation have gone to war,
because of this ugly beauty,
the seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
hundred concubines
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do.

Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies,
since the ****** is an embarassing subject
why men lie and killed for it,
For this remarkable commodity

A ****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
it gets lot of attention.
A weapon so powerful
It can break a man down to his lowest
it has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup. during loving making
However, that was supposed to be the primary appeal
of a beer to men.

The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation,
in addition, the lamentation,
****** you are surely number one!
Men incredible dreams,
No matter how destructive or fulfilling,.

.