No word or flavors sugar coated,
But nothing would be sweeter than the taste of hot cocoa on your lips..
With traces of cinnamon scents on beads that tie your hips..
In a shape of a question mark which begs the question, of my suppression..
Denying myself the expression through your presence, sharing the marijuana smoke on my essence..
Can I be an open scripture for you?
Buried in the sands of time for my patience to harness the climb?
Through… deep halls of Timbuktu to Libraries of Alexandria renewed, sifting…
Light as a feather on your curves drawing cursive words and symbols..
Food to fill your mind and laughter to pull your dimples in an inchful, times the infinite we are blissful..