Is It Poetry
These are my lips.
These lips are big lips.
They need more open space to
wrap them selves around.
They don't fit onto smug pouty little
pretty faces, these lips
are full wide and free lips.
They don't like to be kept empty.
Wet these lips have never been without,
they move up north when they want to
they go south when they need to.
What these lips do,
is none of your buisness.
I smile as you wish it were you.
Mine are rich pink firm hard to grasp lips
and these mighty lips,
have sunk more than their share of ships.
Lips that are tragic.
Lips that are magic.
Lips that are never loose.
Would you could but to know them.
They pull the oil right out of the ground,
and on a man they will never be found.
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