“Growth is inevitable;
Incredible is my hair’s height to grip.
Styles switch…
Braids twist…
Waves…
Or keep some nappy shit.
All natural juices…
High tops fade from back in the day.
I remember the jerry curls,
Dripping with oil sheen spray.
I…
Like a woman with corn rolls;
Or some dreadlocks…
Maybe she can just have a ponytail;
For me to grab as she gets back shots.
As long as it’s hers…
We can make whatever work.
I don’t want to see a horse’s fake extensions;
Flying as you twerk…
Braided up the sides…
As they transform into a mohawk…
Just lay it straight down…
My fingers run through as we pillow talk.
As I get you off, you can’t resist;
The flow of my tongues waves…
Fingers run deep into your cave;
And I can see that it’s shaved.
I’m going to make you cum;
As my gap softly grip your clit…
Just make sure you don’t have that bun on the top of your head;
Because I can’t stand that shit…”
#Poetry’s Heartbeat
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