I am your favorite poets favorite rhyme.
He wants to speak me, just so he can feel my name echo in his mouth.
It rolls off the tip of his lips, in elegant loops,
I follow them into the air.
He kisses my curves and turns them into cursive,
And when I wind my body slow
He sings all my verses.
He speaks my language
When he speaks in tongue,
And when I’ve had enough
He doesn’t let me run.
I exist solely in verbs
I am what he does.

Ive came...
To be....
The...

Song that always gets stuck in his head..
Every time you hear him faintly hum,
it is me strumming his vocal chords gently.
I lay bare across his blank sheets
readily awaiting
the next time he is to rhyme me again.
Painting pictures with his voice
using my skin as his canvas.
Brown was never his favorite color
Until he kissed my lips,
And melted into me.
It was all he saw,
And all he tasted
I glide on the tip
Of the edge of his mind
I am your favorite poets
Favorite, ******* rhyme