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Stroker's Touch
I’m not much of a card player
wouldn’t be good @ poker bluff
nor am I @ all a heart slayer.
But I do have a stroker’s touch.
It’s hard 4me2 hold anything
close2 my vest
except clothes2 my chest
when I’m dressed
&, of course, You.
Your chocolate, long locks grip
my fingers take them in tow
follow in the wake of their flow
or is it vice versa adherence
as in my life’s perseverance
2b on favorite footing
with chocolate flavor pudding.
That’s the besieged league
Your skin’s in.
In everyman’s figment of imagination
they want 2dip or slip
a part of their heart
or hands n2 the strands
or the pigment of fascination
----n2Yours--
Uc, there’s something
about ticklish licorice
that’s funny, Honey,
humorous.
I mean You’re so stroking soft
it’s like floating aloft
proud among clouds
--numerous cumulous—
I’m not an aficionado
on the divisions of lotto.
Some in their slumber it seems
can tie numbers 2dreams
I just can’t seem 2 fidget with digits
@least not that kind.
Now I can release hot flat mine
on2 Your Black back & climb
up2 Your hair stair, let my fingers linger there.
You won’t see me ruffled
playing pinochle 4money
or showing a kid’s bliss
playing bid whisk.
But I do love Your suckle, Honey.
There’s no Joker’s up my cuff.
It’s just that I have
a soft rock-stroker’s touch
& a good stock broker’s luck.
I don’t play the meat market.
2me, You’re not a sweet target,
an appetizer 4me2 have a riser.
2the contrary, You’re the1very necessary
ingredient in my immediate life.
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