'Ink Tensions'

 This spit,
I kid you not,
I'll writhe you hot...

like a comet streakin' nova flame
I'll supplicate your desires,
as you reek my name

n' though I vault
thru the valley of wanton fire
instinctly,  I know
where the most flow will transpire

delvin' deeply,  plantin'
magma seed- the Sun sow
cultivatin' the cream crop  
she feeds the warm glow...

it's a real rousin'
this dousin'
of white hot

'wet heat'
surreal to the temple's temporal
the moments spent off the feet...

like a culinary chef,
preparations are pivotal
when prepping the palate
kneadin' twistin'
mixin' fingers causin' spasms n' fits

n' yea,  if these 'mentalgasms'
got you a bit steamy,
shhhiii, don't whisper it baby...

SHOUT IT!...