(THE LYRICAL KUNG FU MASTER AND HIS MUSE)
THE SOUND AS HE IN DOJO CREATES FORM.. THAT DEEPEST...
http://youtu.be/c2sDwgPlHUE
And she bid that I write of her and I a lonesome man reached into my inkwell and withdrew my pen.
In the formless from where these characters are born I saw her form and began to bob and weave across the page.
Her big brown eyes shining translucently.
I spellbound by their luminescent glow.
Falling, falling into the essential of she.
The spirals of her hair the star speckled skyscape.
I shooting star falling onto her scalp.
Making skinfall on the dark tip of her nipple and sinking in.
Becoming a part of her mass, her essence.
And I the artist/writer/lover feel her so.
A quaking in my phallic roots.
In the seed bearing pods which elicit ejaculate.
Covering and filling her crevasses with seed.
Rivulets running in the channels and forming puddles.
I lost in the jungle where I bend and drink.
Her water soft and sweet.
Her meat so pink and tasty.
Such pretty petals pon thine flowers.
I blow on them and she shudders a most lovely portrait painted black and brown tones.
A mad lyrical kung fu artist lost in the practise.
Calligraphy and hieroglyphics...
Graffitti spray painted on a ghetto wall.
Sandblasted away and drawn again.
You cannot erase we.
And I called upon to capture her for eternity sit back and contemplate.
We complete.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
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