Tears are Dripping … by Jessie 10/05

1920’s, times are mighty hard
Momma’s seven children fill a tinny yard

All the clothes there wearing, done got passed down
Every pair of shoes, even made the rounds

Nights are short and the days are long
Hard to fix what you don’t knows wrong

Tears are dripping form the dead dogs eyes
Momma calms the children with a lullaby

**** chilly night, fires burning hot
Ain’t nothing cooking, got an empty ***

Bellies all a swollen from the lack of food
No one helps momma, feed her hungry brood

Aint no Daddy … Daddy went and died
Momma was too busy…never even cried

Tears are dripping from the dead dogs eyes
Momma calms the children with a lullaby

Momma makes a living washing white folk’s clothes
Winter mighty cold …feel the north wind blow

Kids huddle around, keeping each other warm
Momma always said, gotta ride out the storm

Every days a challenge, every days a chore  
Meeting every day, not knowing what’s in store

Tears are dripping from the dead dogs eyes
Momma calms the children with a lullaby

Listen please,
  I hear the call
As the paint drips
  From the wall and
Onto the floor.

We are redecorating
Only, we are temporary
As we splatter
To get out the past.
  But hey, I like
  This color
As my hands are
Coated with some
  Thick lacquer
That holds my nails
And wrinkles of my skin.

This hue will go well
With what we don’t have
As the brush smears
The globs
Of pastel
And wipes out
The wallpaper,
Of the previous owner.
Layered away
We discolor,
In layers we
Bury them.

I can still feel it -- sliding, melting as it runs down my skin,
slowly dripping down my sides and into places only you've been

When you get down
On your knees in front of me
I panic:
                 “Please don't.”

I'm so used to
  Being the one to kneel
  Being your submissive
  Being the one
To caress your sensitive sugar cookie
With the tip of my tongue
Just not the other way around:
                 “Stop.”

I'm scared
Because what if
You don't like the way I taste
What if
I'm not sweet enough for you
The thought
Burns up my insides:
                 “please don't…”

But when you plant
A candy coated kiss
On my quivering
Inner thigh
I can feel myself
Dripping
My frosting
Creating a damp oval
On the bed spread
A gentle moan escapes my lips:
                 “stop…”

Yet
Your body is hungry
And my words
Only make your stomach growl

So you lean forward anyway
And kiss away at the sugar
My tension growing:
                 “Please don't. Stop.”
Dripping and melting
Into a pleading whimper
                 “Please don't stop.”

Evidently
I seem to be sweet enough for you.

As you slowly run,
Falling down a void,
Of never ending cycle,
Your persistence considered,
Never disappoints restless,
I debate wandering,
To stop the dripping tap.

You were a leaky faucet
Letting words out on accident
Wasting what little water you had left
Dripping
Slowly
Draining into the sewer
All alone
You were slowly dripping away