Upon her lips I rode
The waves of freedom
Stationary mountains
Tree roots seek China

Hip to hip intravenously
Our umbilical cord intact
A map from fingerprints
Blood the deep blue sea

Cream in my cherry wine
A pillow of ghost feathers
Skin soft as pastry butter
Her hair flies the kite solo

Taste like wine the red kind
Not to be mistaken or confused
For by the way she whines
The hill love's about to climb

She'll rest assure out of trust
Her mouth that of brown sugar
Bee's honey if I desire a change
She taste like wine, the red kind

Upon her mind I stayed
Bathing bubbles head to toe
True love hard to come by
Leagues beneath she fainted

Hand in hand we vanished
The arms of time cut short
Coulds of rain suck it up
Our parade saved by honesty

Taste like wine
The red kind
Pitted cherries
She taste like wine

Taste like wine
The red kind
Taste like wine
She taste like wine

Copyright, Nathaniel London Jr. 2014
All rights reserved by author 2014

Poetry by France England
Read 464 times
Written on 2014-07-17 at 01:22

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