I must have slept too much of late
that everything seems too private –
Maybe I should let all go
dreams be dreams and all I know.
“Let not your dreams be dreams”
keeps appearance in my screams;
Maybe I was a little drunk
to think my rhymes can be a trunk.
I must be drunk when she came
caressing my body with her fame –
I must be dizzy 😵 as she rocked
my shivering body must be mocked.
Last night was not like other nights
she kissed my heart to my delights;
Oh, I lost all rigidity!
like a girl her virginity.
She turned me on inside and out
wet my flowers 💐, made them sprout;
That was the height of sexuality
poets can affirm this reality.
Something was hitting on my brain
like the drumming of strong rain;
It was a painful exercise
the consummation was precise.
When she comes you can’t say No
Except that whore you do not know;
the muse last night must be a god
she alone could make me nod.
The muse was sleeping on my bed
inking my pen, rubbing my head;
that was the highest sex-making –
I must confess, it was a-musing.
Angel Dee (C) Jan. 2015