The Figurine
I saw an ogling eye whispering at me
We were at the anthill of a dried a night
Like a duck in a thunderstorm
I drawled before her wet lips
She inserted her passion into my clay, dangling my balls
I became a saint-sinner singing in the euphoria of her nipples
I am an innocent globetrotter who throttle in the winds and whims of her imaginations
Now am sucked and soaked at the sea of life
High and dry because I fell head-long to her waist
Chewing the cuds of delusions
Being at the cross purpose with my very being
A glance of her beauty is out of question
Last night, I saw grass growing under her thigh
In a twinkling, my pipe was like that of the Ethiopian Eunuch
Well, her red lips fell of the mountain
Blowing out the heat and the gush from the Nile
Confining my element with her red clay
Oceans of rumbling and tumbling escaping
Emotions mixed in motions, tongue erupting
With her powdery milk she dissected my Jupiter
I became half gone, in a half day
But her lull resuscitated me
Guess who she is?
She is Figurine.
Copyright © Kingsley Awoh | Year Posted 2012
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