When my poems flirts, it can find a way to get into your heart
As it ****** you my audiences it’s becomes imagery and symbolism
The bouncer of the entry way, but somehow waltzes its way into the mind of the nonbelievers: activating the rhythm and rhymes
The language of emotions felt like a prickly face, against my long neck,
Every emotion has its place: like the smell of the bourbon breath
which make my pulse leap and my body tremble
"To dream of lust is to dream of me it whispered, so ecstatic!
Effortlessly, I tried so not to give in to the poetic teaser,
*I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird,
flying even to the clouds of heaven.
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
even though there is no cause for grief,
and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?*
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
When my poems flirts, it can find a way to get into your heart
As it ****** you my audiences it’s becomes imagery and symbolism
The bouncer of the entry way, but somehow waltzes its way into the mind of the nonbelievers: activating the rhythm and rhymes
The language of emotions felt like a prickly face, against my long neck,
Every emotion has its place: like the smell of the bourbon breath
which make my pulse leap and my body tremble
"To dream of lust is to dream of me it whispered, so ecstatic!
Effortlessly, I tried so not to give in to the poetic teaser,
*I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird,
flying even to the clouds of heaven.
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
even though there is no cause for grief,
and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?*
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