James Lewis

Rookie (August 19,1975 / Newark, NJ)

Peach Basket - Poem by James Lewis

Let me kiss your navel baby, aint that what you like, I know it drives you crazy and I do it out of spite,

I push you to the precipice of heaven pull you back, redundantly I punish thee until your body's slack.

There's incense burning all around us trying to mask the smell, of scorching earth we torch and murk each other basking well,

in ambiance created by the passion of our lust, it really don't take much you see I'm tempted just to touch,

Your swollen budded flower petals calling out to me, with nectar on my stinger goin out just like a bee,

a field of pollination in an open countryside, the meadow's lemon yellow nibb'ling on your inner thigh.

I'm aiming for your peach basket but I'm not Naismith James, the last name's Lewis do it cause I'm here to stake my claim,

I do it for your satisfaction not for praise and fame, I'm crazy in the brain to eat your peach I'm Raising Cain.

Your juices trickle down my lips, a glorious escape, but even that won't quiet down the noises that you make,

it's good for us the kids are gone and nowhere to be found, your moans are like a symphony surrounding me with sound.

A treasure true to pleasure you it be like that because, my mission's a position that don't mind your peachy fuzz,

it tickles just a little bit across my shaven cheek, through summer, winter, spring or fall that peach is staying sweet.

The fruits of labor savored by a fella such as I, I'll prove to you good men exist and that comes hell or high-,

-est water seas I'll part em just to emphasize this fact, a man who takes an active role up in it I am that.

I'm steady preachin peaches but I'll serve and feed you food, relationships consist of more than just keeping you nude,

your day was long and tiresome? Come lay down on my chest, and tell me all about it close your eyes NOW you can rest.

I'll wake you up displaying skill so don't retreat or cower, I'm not sure if you know but I can each a peach for hours,

and if you aren't used to being pampered how I speak, you'll get accustomed to the way I jam to handle peach.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 19, 2011



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