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The Palm Wine Seller's Daughter

The thought of sharing secret passions with her,
Is worth the wrath I’d incur should I dare,
To in lust rub against her milk chocolate skin,
And suck upon one perfect orb and not its twin.

Her teeth, as white as the froth on my palm wine,
And full honeyed lips that must be twice as sweet,
They tell of insight I’d discern should we entwine
Our bodies till we are weak in the tropical heat.

When carelessly she swings her rounded hips,
The fire in my loin burns and every man sighs,
I raise the calabash to my lips and take sweet sips,
And dream of treasures at the meeting of her thighs.

The sassiness in her laughter is my demise,
The elegance and grace in her gait my delight,
And if by accident there’s a meeting of our eyes,
Dear Lord I implore you don’t let me expire tonight.

As I drain the sweet nectar from my calabash,
My eyes follow her every twist and turn,
And I envisage her in ecstasy whispering my name,
It is for this reason and more every night I must return.

*****July 02, 2009*****




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The sickness that made the Vulture bald
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We have come to understand, that,
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http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,
Waiting...

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

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He holds his peace,
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For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

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