Sunday, October 16, 2011

With What Ability to Satisfy

she is no one- no woman
from Holy Cross Church
middle class and stuck up and up tight
she is a miracle on earth

pulling down her white, short dress
riding up while she dances
while she gyrates divinely

pulling it up in front to tease
for 1 split-second, to show her pretty panties

woman who could shake like that, I want
woman like that, like her
could keep me satisfied
for the rest of my days

wonder what she'd look like
with her short, white dress off
with her panties off
with her bra or bikini top off as well

skinny woman, fleshy hips
from heaven, able to roll her body
able to make her belly-
able to make her bottom roll

video of her on YouTube
watching it for about 6 hours
no desire to switch to any other

sleepy as I am
up all night, all morning
unable to leave her and go to bed

in my heart, my head
and in my blood
want her inside me, part of me
forever more

added to the girls I love
to those I know in the flesh

her to address, to undress
wish I had her address

wish to God to get to know her
to be able to connect

to add her to the awesome women
in my life actually

not enough to have her on YouTube
her back to me, gyrating
like not too many people can
like not too many women I know
would if they could

especially not church woman
with a dray-load of hang-ups

wish I had her to hang out with
tired of women with hang-ups
to hang with,
to live with without really living

want to go to heaven and to hell
with this angelic someone
with this divine sister of mine

pulls her white, mini dress
down around the flesh of her hips
to enable who is watching
to taste the sweet peach of her hips

I want to bite into it
where juices run, I want to follow
let none waste

she is too sweet to let drip
and drop upon the ground
too sweet to let get away

what a day, stumbled upon her
and I'm up still
half-past 1 in the afternoon

staying up until the sun comes up
already stretching it
met her on the Internet
and I'm stretched more

what has she done to my heart
with her hips

how she moves them
twists and winds them

simultaneously, I am wound
about her finger
she winds me about her finger

wish it were possible for her to know
what a victim I am of her art

my own art to hit back with
but how and where and when
like boxers in a boxing match
in a boxing ring, could I strike back
with poem I've written of her

with poem her dancing-
her outfit inspired this Saturday,

fifteenth day of October,
on New Providence, here on earth

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2011
Written between 10:25 a.m. and 1:33 p.m.
on Saturday, October 15, 2011


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