She is curvy with tarred ass
of horribly skewed asphalts.
With fixed figures of greatly
hosted bumps, just packed
to a perfect shape of eights.
But driving on her sexy road
appealing to climb and rock
is tasting juice of sour grape
reaping naught but orgasms
burning hotly as if raping fire.
Romancing her spells death.
Her pretty lips are poisoned,
none must kiss her! A peck
may be wining on a rotten
colostrum, a dinning to die!
She calls standing like a whore,
alluring, luring you to fake bliss
on her bed sprayed with roses
sawn off her enchanted trees
where kings and minion saw
an end to their hungry flare
and breathing organ of air
With her,
be funky but also on your head;
guilty of lust but not your head;
spend the night but never stay;
for in life, focus wins the race!
© Ben James
#ANSAPoetOfTheWeekContest
'Minion... Colostrum... You really should be more simplistic in your poetry... We offer this advice all the time.