naz poetry spot
Morning Island Coffee
Just one breath of her... and fresh baked bread
soft spread of butter
moist sweetness of peach jam...
light fuzzy dewing of her inner thighs
soaking nectar licked from my fingers to her lips
air of morning island coffee...
she pours me her cup... hot coffee inviting slow and steady sips
dark as the sex of night
the taste of her... and the sharp cries of oh so good pleasure
a pinch of french vanilla cream...
pure like a virgin penetration
a spooning swirl of mindful bliss
flushed with baby I'm going to uh-um repeated cries
a drop of dry Haitian Rum waking the third eye lies
a zombie hypnotized like a child's first taste
of spicy peanut butter on a hard kassav cracker
an orgasmic live wire cracks down to the bone
the voodoo rides her spine like the full moon surfs the tides
emotions, spasmic ocean waves over light tan and brown sands
smooth loving motions... her cup is full
softly spreading butter on warm flesh perspiring
tears of thick honey excreted through every pore of her skin
while exploring the blue mountains so true to her heart
a cool morning fog leaving dews landing condensed on aroused nipples
standing hard and tall against my touch
deep clouds forming under my breath becoming a vessel of peace
just before the tropical storm... pouring her cup on the brink of overflowing
she's suddenly slipping into the involuntary... the uncontrollable urges
deep contractions of muscle... a clam escaping its shell into boiling water
just one last breath... one last thrust before death
a surge... the distant coming storm... came... and burst!
with the dawn comes a calm rain
the darkness of night died to morning's air filled with the scent
of fresh baked bread... spread again in the smoothness of butter
my lips on her cup taking slow sips of morning island coffee
dark as the sex of night...
with every star as a grain of sugar a pinch of french vanilla cream... to a good morning
she's my morning island coffee
Hertz Nazaire [ Naz ] (c) 2002