My Darling iPod

My darling iPod, oh how I love thee. 
The one I love revolutionises the way I listen to music in my modern times. 
The one I love, revolutionises how I interact with other people. 
Only now it alienates my judgement amongst others around me. 
They say I'm being anti-social even. 
But it's OK, I don't need them anyway. 
I don't think they realise I've got her in the palm of my hands. 
Protector from scratches that may come her way. 
So I've created a concealed bubble for you and I to control our own private space, where I don't have to face the next door neighbour in a passenger's seat. 

My darling iPod, oh how I enjoy pressing your buttons that turns you on like a hot kettle. 
Sprung up the steamy playlist, as you shuffle them up randomly and I just set it to repeat, repeat, repeat the minds of an R'n'B lover. 
Going bump te bump bump, white headphones like arms bringing me closer to your applications you have stored in your system. 
I believe you have plans on bringing me to your world. 
As I lose myself in time, I hear voices shouting my name that brings me down to earth all of a sudden. 
Noise pollution seems to rattle ones curiousity in wondering what's going on. They bring my attention away from the iPod I love, and that kinds of pisses me off, as we were getting "jiggy with it" in the bedroom. 
My darling iPod, how I get the jealousy factor when I'm not with you. 
Probably another unknown user could be arousing your time, pushing your buttons making you feel high.

My darling iPod, how I lone for your use of entertainment that fulfils the enjoyments we share. 

How I lone for your use of information when the clouds are gonna send rain upon us. 

I lone for the use of mobility because we stuck together like Bonnie & Clyde, on the ride to the stars. 

As the music elevates us into new heights above the rim. 

So why ask about me and Ms Sony Walkman, well that's nothing but my ex-player who was only limited on changing tapes than using random iTunes, like it was computer love. 

It left me bored and withered, so I had to move on to the next greatest trend out there. 

I had to find something I couldn't take my eyes off, but instead your seduction manages to seduce the money I had planned for my uni tuition. 

Something I could devote my time and place of solitude, away from prying eyes who may easily snatch you away for their own pleasurable needs. 

Fuck'em I say, why be with them when you've got me to look after you. 

Or is my time too needy for you to give you my all? 

So you see, all these years I've wasted being with you, been loyal to you and this is the thanks I get from an inanimate object. 

Oh fine then I'm leaving you, divorcing you even. 
I'm sure there are better things to explore than be listening to you.

Artistry

Writing animated poetry, thinking they’re real life.

Drinking Malibu is believing you are there in Ibizia.

Sleeping in New York City is dreaming you are with her in the stars.

Wishful thinking is doing God’s work spiritually.

Contemporary theatre is magical play, when the phantom of the opera reveals its other half.

Painting is contemporary photography that captures them in landscape.

Pencils we draw is contemporary expression.

Love for artistry is the Albert Bridge I sit next to her intimacy.

The beloved River Thames flowing letter waves, my inspiration is urban falls.

Civilians analyse the way I paint her vision dearly, boats still as life water.

Drawings I conjure up in acrylics, that mix in with time and leisure sports.

You see London is my thoughts of pathway pavements. Battersea is my little map of inspirational walk.

My all around who is drawing roses that squirm harmony hippies.

Painting the River Thames, slower and sharper.

Seeing reflections ripple of visionary sonnets that spell Chelsea homes, house make Victorians cringe for their teas and their cupcakes.

The telescopes see art expressionism open up e-mail boxes. Pop ups like pop art on the charts.

The kind of musical colours that go BLAW, the kind of colours that go WHOA, and it’s heavenly sent to Kandinsky.

I’m only painting Mona Lisa like Leonardo Da Vinci, romanticise red valentine lovers in Romeo and Juliet tragic love affair.

Love is passionate, and passion is rainbow fluid. What wonders photography has in correct lens, SLR rearrange snap shots like it was high definition on Sky Plus.

Lucky views have excellent sightseeing architects, from Tate Modern views.

It’s St Paul’s Cathedral, on Millennium Bridge with tourists walking, camera snapping, architects lifted high in raise your flags internationists. Raise your hands if you wanna fly, sky dive Origami. European romances on Spain grounds, Magaluf gave me the best sex of my life.

Real Madrid improved Spanish worlds of Spanish arts, Italy has the God given boot internationally known. I’ve flown sketchbooks over the horizons, to conclude Mountain Everest in its peak time.

So give me the paints, give me the acrylics, give me the spray cans of delinquency.

Hold onto my canvas tight.

Don’t hurt the oil pastels that reach oil paintings to fossil fuel.

Don’t hurt the creative instruments that strung, pick, bang, pluck, pound noises that ring stages to a theatre near you.

Don’t let the noise down to worthless silence that kills the joys of energetic fields.

Don’t lose the creative streak that invents large Russia into multiple talents.

It’s a gift, blessed with the mic. A brush for ambition so let’s paint.

A pencil for scribbles, so let’s draw.

A pen for mistakes that Manga couldn’t handle, but I doodle leprechauns that eat Lucky Charms for breakfast.

I doodle buildings, that talk London Bridge tears of liberty.

I doodle African art that hieroglyphics which has a spoken heritage to my heart.

So let your world be free, seek and explore tropical arts that shine.

Museums that display artefacts with a story to tell.

History is everlasting, artistry is never forgotten.

So don’t forget the artist that painted your face to celebrate dates of Feburary’s lover’s land, July school ends, August summer begins.

Don’t forget the artist that inspired you, don’t forget the name of the artist.

Cos I am he that keeps on breathing.

Making love 2 music

Baby girl, I wanna make D’Angelo love to you 
where the sounds of R’n’B is playing like no other has done to you before. 
Undress you down to your knees and make your toes curl. 
The mood takes me along your thighs, while the Tyrese song On Top Of Me is playing, I picture your body laying beautifully naked from the start of our erotic fantasy. Yeah, you heard me right baby. 
I wanna make D’Angelo love to you where the sounds of R’n’B is playing like no other has done to you before, undress your hidden buttons that turns you on at the right places at the right time.  
Not just treat you to a one night stand, fuck you and then leave you type of love. No, that’s nothing but lust in the air, only players on the field would do this to you. 
I want to make this night grand till you could barely stand on your toes. 
If the song was our One Life Stand, I’ll make it everlasting till our bodies depart several ways into 7^th Heaven, god willing. 
Where the greatest sex is irresistible addictive, brothers have forgotten the way to love again. 
Let us make love by the fire place where the steamy sounds of Strip For You sends wilder wetter dreams beneath your Victoria’s Secret. 
Where the flames flicker in desire to ignite our hearts on fire, where I can just taste your tender skin edible like vanilla ice cream on a hot Sunday. 
Put your back against the wall and feel my mouth making its way around your neck like a leech. 
Your arms locked around me like a cage, trapped inside your eyes, what a surprise we’ll be making love in this room tonight. 
Let your moans ring my ears like a telephone hearing my answer to moan as we climax to stardom. 
Let us make love on the balcony under the moonlight where the view of Venice is great to explore the nightlife darkening the final hours.

I wanna make Tyrese love to you in the morning when the rising sun is bright, slither my hands between your legs just to get you aroused by the things I’m gonna do to you. 
Get your pussy moist than running rivers could ever meet the size of your canal. 
It’s your love tunnel that makes me wanna come inside, discover the orgasm that takes my breath away.
Out of this world into outta space, across the universe.
Going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and...on.
If that’s not enough to satisfy your guilty intentions, let me turn up the heat in the shower. 
The water is our final hour to make us wetter than rain, wetter than waterfalls could ever bless us the explicit nature we are committing.
I am your definition of freak in the sheets, the music lover wants to take you under the covers so he can wet up the sheets with you, toss the telephone aside so there be no interruptions while your erotic moans takeover the bedroom. 
It’s like a chapter I’ve torn from Zane’s novel that will tell a Getting Buck Wild tale will get your hair in a twist. 
The rock ‘n’ roll sparks the volume to enjoy moments like this. 
Moments where the electrifying guitar thrusts through you like a 1000 volts waiting to make shock love till you say “yes…uuuhhh yes… oohhh baby… I’m about to cum… YES… YYYEEESSS” 

The slow jams of Marvin Gaye playing ever so smoothly, ensuring the vibes are in its right motif. 
Guitar strings playing so gently settling aside the hardcore edges, pouring your heart out into the sensations on Sexual Healing. 
I want to be that sexual healing when stress levels are high. 
And calm your nerves with Herbal Essence formula with a sexual healing bound in your soul. 
Captivate every language in your body turned on by the rhythm playing our mood swings, musical notes dancing on our tongues as we French kiss under the chandeliers along with the candle delights. 
Like R-Kelly, with a little bump n grind.
Make love till I hear your scream out the signs of Opera moans meeting its thrust of my dick. 
Make love till our bodies take on the heat of Miami, as the rushing tides splash upon us, exhausted from the ooohhhs, the aaahhhs, the climaxes and the orgasms we’ve generated.

So once again baby girl, I wanna make D’Angelo love to you where the sounds of R’n’B is playing like no other has done to you before. 
Undress you down to your knees and make your toes curl. 
Without your R’n’B lover by your side, there can be no chemistry between us. 
There can be, no place to touch you, no place to tease you, please you in your time of need. Yeah, you heard me right baby. 
I wanna make D’Angelo love to you where the sounds of R’n’B is playing like no other has done to you before. 
Undress your hidden buttons that turns you on at the right places at the right time … it’s that OK to make love while the R’n’B plays your nipples like turntables? 
If not so, thanks for allowing me to replenish the wildest fantasy of your dreams. 
I hope my wet dreams have steamed you well for tonight, I’ll make those panties fall down, your DD size cup bra unfasten and make those grooves to my rhythms a reality you’ll never forget.