By Kimberly Scott
Look at you, Miss Thang
Your punctilious lips, your persuasive hips
They speak to me from every angle
Your lips intrigue with a passionate pout
Your hips, your hips, they sway as the river
Except only for me
Your voice is like a nightingale’s
Lovely and sweet
I’d never known such perfection
Until my ears heard for themselves
When I look upon your face
It is the sunshine bright on a Sunday morning
It shines though
Even when the sun sets
Your legs are long
Your hair is wild fire
Not to be tamed or attained
You are wondrously and magnificently made
Yes, I am beautiful.
Category: Poetry