Is It Poetry
Sugar Mom-Ma Where are You Now;
Soon I must let go too dig my grave.
If you don't come real soon.
You have money, I have seen your gold.
I have seen it go, forever green, forever green
and you have never seemed so kind too me.
There is Nothing that I have,
and you could make it better, my whole world.
My Sugar Mom-ma, I must can I, hold those globes,
both apples and a peach moist raisin is your sun.
I would lift each one and bath it every night.
Sipping wine too doze you would then know,
It is my pleasure after and I would.
While I buff each moon so pale it shines,
and you would never wake in time too find it deep and true.
I should know as I move deftly round your smile.
After each massage I give each part is Once inside.
Cucumbers for your eye balls, sliced real thick and I.
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