I'm sick and the cure is somewhere by your thighs
Or what lies in your eyes
When I get stricken by your pupils
My eyes don't lie
I'm gazing in a area where I know it's amazing
The imprint
Makes my jaws clinch
That tingling feeling penetrates my mouth
There's a puddle underneath my tongue
Hold up let me take care of that
(Gulp)
Yeah the imprint
And the tight denim that fit it
Shorts that's well lifted
Thighs are real gifted
Glazed and smooth
(Oops a drool)
Back to the thighs
The tender side
Right in the middle
Right before the gristle
Can you see the imprint of my missile?
Not all the way stiffened , but the pre still sort of drizzle
I try my best to hide it
As I think of how you can ride it
Ride it
Ride it
Ride it
Rising
Rising
Rising
OH I CAN'T NEVERMIND IT
Let me think of sports
Instead of ***********
(Ok ima try it again)
Ok that space I don't know if it's declared as your waist
But under your navel above your laced
Spell my name with my tongue, scribble over it , erase
Indent a few times
And skip to the next line
Extra credit a perfect heading
I can give it to you just right
What? MLA or APA format?
I can turn the page
The page
Your back page tacked upwards in the air
Takes my breath away
It's a work of art
A mural so well put together and separated at the same time
With a dark tunnel of sensation smack dab in the middle
The best part of that collage is how you're looking back at me for confirmation
And I just draw your attention to the opening of your tunnel
Kind of crafty how you shake while I'm in place
You have more definition than the 3rd
Your silhouette makes me figure that you shape my life
Your sketch draw the line between real and fake
Your art is too curvaceous for any 'ol man hand's to trace
Your art is just so fine and liberal
Your touch is just so sensual and Midas
Your feeling is more like warm apple cider breaking through my cold body
Your taste reminds me of cinnamon or fudge
And when your milk drips I hate for it to miss my lips
I miss those lips
I wish that it was a button that I can click that don't stiffen my wrist to stimulate that ********
I don't need a GPS to locate my CVS
Give it to me
I'm in symphony
Them old fashion home remedies
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
I'm sick and the cure is somewhere by your thighs
Or what lies in your eyes
When I get stricken by your pupils
My eyes don't lie
I'm gazing in a area where I know it's amazing
The imprint
Makes my jaws clinch
That tingling feeling penetrates my mouth
There's a puddle underneath my tongue
Hold up let me take care of that
(Gulp)
Yeah the imprint
And the tight denim that fit it
Shorts that's well lifted
Thighs are real gifted
Glazed and smooth
(Oops a drool)
Back to the thighs
The tender side
Right in the middle
Right before the gristle
Can you see the imprint of my missile?
Not all the way stiffened , but the pre still sort of drizzle
I try my best to hide it
As I think of how you can ride it
Ride it
Ride it
Ride it
Rising
Rising
Rising
OH I CAN'T NEVERMIND IT
Let me think of sports
Instead of ***********
(Ok ima try it again)
Ok that space I don't know if it's declared as your waist
But under your navel above your laced
Spell my name with my tongue, scribble over it , erase
Indent a few times
And skip to the next line
Extra credit a perfect heading
I can give it to you just right
What? MLA or APA format?
I can turn the page
The page
Your back page tacked upwards in the air
Takes my breath away
It's a work of art
A mural so well put together and separated at the same time
With a dark tunnel of sensation smack dab in the middle
The best part of that collage is how you're looking back at me for confirmation
And I just draw your attention to the opening of your tunnel
Kind of crafty how you shake while I'm in place
You have more definition than the 3rd
Your silhouette makes me figure that you shape my life
Your sketch draw the line between real and fake
Your art is too curvaceous for any 'ol man hand's to trace
Your art is just so fine and liberal
Your touch is just so sensual and Midas
Your feeling is more like warm apple cider breaking through my cold body
Your taste reminds me of cinnamon or fudge
And when your milk drips I hate for it to miss my lips
I miss those lips
I wish that it was a button that I can click that don't stiffen my wrist to stimulate that ********
I don't need a GPS to locate my CVS
Give it to me
I'm in symphony
Them old fashion home remedies
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