Higher And Higher

For…

playing records…

Slow toned lights…

Cold chilly music…

Like snow cones…

Arctic arch…

The vibrations…

On every touch…

Hands on cheeks…

Contact…

Just feel the music…

Blood drums beating….

Press throats for…

Pulsating…

Rhythmic slurs…

You must have rhythm…

Like a pendulum…

Swinging…

Shaping hips…

Own reflection…

Of the silhouette…

Blind folded…

So that…

Your shadow can clap…

A arousal of a applause…

Face still sapphire…

Yet…

A ruby in disguise…

Grind those thighs of yours…

Up on this phantom…

Melting linen…

Sheets into silver…

Tears and woes unbleached…

Cleansed in pure honesty…

Calmly…..

Pour Your Own Troubles

Drums…

Rough rock fingers on saxophones…

Old gold in a paper bag…

Pianos…

Cap lock on wish we hads…

Gutar pics lack there of…

A man named…

 

“Bucky .O Bitchs”

 

His mistresses were…

Rythum of blues…

Cunningham content constructing visuals…

By notes of inked words…

Impenetrable…

Where there is no black or white…

Left or right…

What’s right is what’s wrong…

We all have our struggles…

Rich or poor…