Little Wing…

Fire rapture with every blow!
Kiss to your ankle, wrapped around your toe…

your soul tastes nice,
your kiss on fire,

making a goddess behave,
a whip, a wire,

solos go slow, then pick it up again,
as stevie harmonicizes everything I know…

tickle of intervals,
lick and a flick,

bending clits on the 12,
just to sweep it up on the 6,

a strat is what it is,
with sauseges to struck them,

gauges off key,

typing keys to a tune,
sung by a black man,

and tamed by a whitey…


About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s