Scattered between cursed dreams
and fragments of reality
my skin is on fire
craves for a wet douse of chilled facts
to slap truth in the face.
Position my thoughts back in a zone
where hungry eyes and thirsty lines
surrender to the lust of ink
and verbs slowly drip
on a southern summer’s eve.
Hidden sentiments and exposed inspirations
rooted deep beneath skin
flows from my pores
until adjectives develop into whores
determined to open their legs
in parchment-paper motels
leaking ink stains
of erotic prose
on sheets dried in dirty deeds
for those who read
and yearn for a need to be sated.
I admit my imagination can take
you there… smoothly,
without the need to fly Coach….
and there are millions of fantasies
imprisoned in my head,
Verses shackled inside my brain
jailed as if I committed a moral sin,
which is why the compos mentis warden
of my aberrant carnality
is always watching me;
keeping my pen grounded.
….and whatever speech that my ruby red lips
doesn’t have the licks and sucks to utter,
I’ll continue to confess here instead...
giving this paper the best head
my pen could ever conceive.