....a lyric is born….


A pulsation of a theme,
in a sensation of a light beam:
I sat near by you to scribble
a verse on your beauty;
When lights and shades are on
You form a beautiful shadow
When kissable lips blooms,
the music drops away;
Sensual arousal inhibits
While nipples groomed
On your tiny tits….
Its night sky lit from
within by a strange
Greenish glow.
The title begins
A woman’s hands,
With her beautiful nails,
Slaking through a junk bin in a dark,
fire lit, ash dusted place…
a lyric is born….

Williamsji Maveli


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