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Rich Blonde Beach
It was a mere stumble upon a sharp ledge, I got tangled in right or wrong what badge, to wear exactly where I didn’t plan to be, outside your safe arms, plan B C D E F words , overlooking what’s behind this touch-gold magic-caress, some dark flavor 100% cacao mass, Sur-Saharan bless something I want to bite, breathe, belong to.
I was not going to ask for permission once I saw how the reddle-snakes get along, free-falling, tickled without fingers to point below the beltline, sensitive spot.
So I hopped into this shadow, not a black hole, but dark enough to siesta a millennia bible old wishes when tempus was ample without tightness, we close eyes, Pompeii ashes, brightness chase some excessive sparkle, an extra mile, salary in US dollar. Just 1 f*cking dollar. Enough for an eyeball bonfire of lust-forever-burning-fever mask-party-glitter. You better get rich-ready-blonde-beach. Puff-Daddy sings to dead Notorious B.I.G “Mo Money Mo Problems” and ignores his own vocal cords. While holding his breath away from singing worse days = better words.
L-a-r-y-n-g-o-s-p-a-s-m pronunciation.
Teeth grinding grains of sand.
“Living my life like it’s golden”
Idleness sofa-sitting clouds, diluted teaspoon soy sauce brown-ink writing drafts like grains were not…
