(SHE PAINTED GENTLY IN SUCH SOFT WORDS) DEDICATED TO SHERINA.
THE SOUND AS MY TEMPLES POUND...
https://youtu.be/j2EaIWdC1-Q
And if I were to draw her I would use charcoal to capture the very pure darkness of she.
Rip her and render her alive pon page.
Words and image combined as o bringing her alive would sketch her eyes, the Asiatic cut... Her lips, the juicy African plumpness... Oh my... My mind.
So much information as I contemplate her form.
Her breasts so firm as I trace her from mental horizons... The gentle rise of her belly, the thickness of her thighs.
The plumpness of her feminity as my temples... My temples pound her into the very crevasses of my psyche.
Her smell so sweet that I swayed would try to convey it as the most magnificent of odors ever to cross the hairs of my nose.
As it is inhaled into my lungs.
All these things as I poetic painter would preserve her pon paper... Pon computer screen.
Such a delicately lovely thing that I gently would treat it... This trans-dimensional journey into this realm where we in our love would bring life to dying world's.
I in hanging these words would stand back contemplating them as I would sigh...
A tear in mine eye a second before it following my cheek would fall to the floor.
Eventually evaporating away, back to the flow.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
