we once made love like lava
we made love under a bookcase
her lips were sweet as guava
her panties made of frilly lace
her sweat raced down her spine
my tongue ran in quick pursuit
ain’t no lady nearly half as fine
not princess nor one of ill repute
my baby screams loud my name
my baby likes to lick my neck
but minutes after my baby came
she darted away quick as heck
she knows what it is she needs
she also knows that i adore her
and if afterward swiftly recedes
i wait patiently like a good soldier
because i know she’ll soon return
she needs my special lovin’
she is in my blood a feverish burn
my baby’s passion is like an oven
then we will make love for hours
a tangle of limbs lying on the bed
lost in her scent of wildflowers
my baby is the only poem i have read
Keats?
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I started reading him for my favorite poet. Between him and Hughes, we get this.
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