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"He Was The Son Of A Preacher"....(The Real Sin City) pt. 2
“.......And I feel like a bullet in the gun of Robert Ford
I'm low as a paid assassin is
You know I'm cold as a hired sword “
[font=Courier New]a-de-laide, Ms. Taste
prostrate, cut down
stretched upon the green grass
away from the urban shade
nostrils flared like a wild stallion,
I inhale
the fragrant shame
toking the chemtrails
that howl my name
the spent ardor of
her “pussy au jus”,
an exquisite potpourri of
me and you
spread all over each other
like caramel butter.......
…...love to love you baby
the way you worked you hips,
axis your spine
blowing my mind........the way you
fucked me, yes you did “fuck me”
senselessly
feeling the recoil of my gun unloading
inside of you
time after time.
Feeling the quiver and shake
of your finest behind
….your promise fulfilled
to love me down
and worketh me not
tantalize and tease me.....hitting all the right spots
needing not to sound like Dr. Seuss
but desperately wanting you to “hop on pop”
“get down, get funky......get loose”
crying for this dark beast to be released,
thrust felt deep along your delta
longing to feel your wetness
dripping down
all
over
me
like the warm waters
of the deep gulf stream...
...I want it all
weakened knees
do me baby, lest I give way to
deepest sleep
sweltering dreams
of this nightmarish heat
between you and me
…..the “real” sin city, baby.
Published 3rd May 2016
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Anonymous
3rd May 2016 11:57pm
...and again you have Captured me like no other artist have been able to. Every time I read your work, you literally pull me in to every moment. I live your words as I read it, I do. Oh how you capture me so. Please don't ever stop for I need you to Live, I breathe your Words. Again, please Never stop... Deep Underground Poetry from your hands Resuscitates me time after damn time...
4th May 2016 3:09am
25th Jun 2016 11:31am
