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In our swap of spit
As we kissed
And our lips hit
You said you weren't contagious
But now I'm sick
It's true, what they say
people are mirrors
I look into your eyes
everything is backwards

What you see,
eyes and lips
hips and thighs
dirt and twigs
curves and lines

If my proportions
are enough, but
not too much
then...
I have your attention
and maybe
If I press my clothes
burn my hair
paint my face
maybe you will
like what you see?

What would I see?
If you never told me
I was beautiful
When I cover up
brush my hair
across my face
then...
would I know?
could I see?
The girl that's dying
inside of me.
Love like the sun
Loves the earth
Ever since they met
They dance every day

The sun makes the earth
Look on the brighter side
The earth gives the sun
A reason to wake up

Love like the earth
Loves the sun
Because the earth isn’t distracted
By the stars and the moon
The rain almost seemed alive as it scattered
from the trees and houses onto the hot ground.
It was cold.
The coupling of the two bore a thin, ghostly steam.
The night hugged her like a warm vignette.
She wore gypsy boots, a cowl hoodie, and a camera around her neck.
She liked the way the lights danced in the water.
As the steam lingered, as if hypnotized by the slick, black diamonds slowly dripping from the sky.
The music in her head, as does her voice, has no sound.
Not silent.
Not to be heard, to be played.
It is the only thing that moves her.
She almost seems happy when she's dancing in the rain.
Tonight, tonight.
 May 2016 john p green
Bria Grimm
The birds paint ribbons in this evening's sky,
and the sun sets the ruby canvas.
A breeze of fresh air brushes past us,
and the salty tint of the ocean is present.
Here in your arms,
spread out across the mounds of sand,
your fingers float amongst my skin.
Back and forth,
back and forth.
Matching the exact rhythm of the sea.
There's more to a woman than her body and curves.
At the core of her brain is a thunderstorm that rains down wisdom, knowledge, and understanding, flooding the soul of man with love in it's truest form.
There's more to a woman than her physical beauty.  She's a living, breathing, ocean with waves of compassion leaping up from the depths sweeping man up in her current allowing him to swim in her essences that is woman.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Welcome to the city of ****** no need to know my name I'll be your tour guide.
Follow me as we stroll down ******* Boulevard where they live life so care free ***, drugs, ******, the daily routine.
Make a sharp left on SlutVille Road where prostitutes salute the almighty dollar.  Another hard left now we're on Addict Street where addicts get high to mask their pain. This city only has left turns, no right turns, no hope insight but anyway let's pay a visit to the ****** of ******.  Corrupt politicians, slimy city officials making profits off the plight of the people.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum
I'm going to have to write this over.  I wrote this before I wrote Currupt Avenue.  I want this to match Corrupt Avenue.
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