"Snap off da apple//
Nibble on da strawberries//
Pick out da grapes//
Sip on da cranberry//
Face in da mango//
Munch on da coconuts//
Peel my bannana//
We are dun with da palava"
She whispered "will it hurt me?"
"Of course not" answered he
"It's a very simple process,
You can rely on me."
She said "I'm very frightened,
I've not had this before.
My friend has had it five times
And said it can be sore."
It was growing rather painful
Tears formed in her eyes
It was hurting quite a bit now
It must have been a size.
"Calm yourself" he whispered
"His face filled with a grin
"Try and open wider
So I can get it in."
"It's coming now" he whispered
"I know" she cried in bliss
Feeling it deep within her now
She said "I am glad I'm having this."
And with a final effort
She gave a frightened shout
He gripped it in anguish
And quickly pulled it out.
She lay back quite contended
Sighed and gave a smile
She said "I'm glad I came now
You made it worth my while."
Now if you read this carefully
The dentist you will find
Is not what you imagined
It's just your dirty mind!!
I see that breasts are in again,
that is to say,
breasts that are out are in.
Breasts that are in
are out.
Though no breast is ever wholly in or wholly out,
some are more in than out.
They also seem to be most in if they are up when they are out.
Gravity is defied.
They stand up and out,
round and hard on top
and look kind of like a bottom.
But their bottoms look nothing like a top.
And cleavage implies a clear separation between the two,
a twain, as it were,
a division formed most prominently
by pushing them together.
Their division is most in when they are out,
most up when they look like a bottom
and most distinctly separate when they are crammed together.
This poem needs a point though.
Nipples,
being the points of breasts,
are most pointed when they are erect,
providing a visual diversion
from the smoothness
and roundness
of up and out and together.
Nipples are up and out and apart,
but, women,
when their nipples are most up
and most out
and most apart
cover them with arms and hands and
strategically placed jackets and bags and bundles and books and babies.
But if a woman wears her breasts
up and out and together,
just barely inside
a scoop neck top,
and a stray breeze chills her
and her nipples become more out
and up and apart
and my eye falls across her chest,
even if I am admiring,
even if I am approving,
even if I am supportive,
even if I am merely seeing,
it goes without saying
that I should not be saying
anything about seeing her breasts.
In fact, if I do,
Im more focused on the objects
than on the she
who placed them there,
and consciously chose
to push them together,
and lift them up,
to swell them round and hard on top,
to stress thier twain
by cramming them together,
revealing her bottom
that she wears on top.
Now, I see that breasts are in again,
and if you have them,
you can show them.
And, If you show them
I will see them
But, this being a new century and all,
if you show them and I see them
I'd never say I saw them in public.
An itch to be scratched -
A lust unmatched -
An empty bed -
"Let's go!" she said.
And on the summer's afternoon
we loved until we saw the moon.
Exhausted, laying there exposed
upon my belly, I proposed
she scratch my back to top it off -
and soon she did, so soft, so soft.
Nails as sharp as 'Wiltshires' creep
like slugs upon a compost heap
across my sweaty skin until
I feel an itch she can't quite kill.
"Just up a bit." She hears me say.
"Down a bit.the other way.
Up a tad. You've gone askew.
Slide across a touch or two.
A little harder. Damn it! Swat it!
Keep going, yes, you've almost got it.
Listen woman, can't you tell.
You're nowhere near it. Bloody Hell!”
I fling my body in the air
and land atop the carpet bare
Grinding hard upon my back
searching for a pointy tac
to give me what I really need -
a decent scratch that makes me bleed
Bewildered, she is staring down,
as losing it, I go to town.
Raising up my back, I arch it,
slamming hard down on the carpet.
My body parts are flicking, hectic,
like I'm turning epileptic.
A book! A knife! A nice high heel!
Give me something I can feel
But suddenly, like when it reared,
my itch just vanished.disappeared.
I rose, so pleased, my love to tell
and found that she was gone as well.
The door was slammed, the lock was latched.
Our race was run.and I was scratched!
Enjoy adore honey love makin infatuation makin love seduce with passion and emotion cherish charm entice invite lure appeal attract with the power of words.
Check out da video
R.A.W The Arms House Riddim
you will not see this on channel U cuz its D-Bizzy MySpace exclusive.
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