Body beautiful pt2

Are you illegally in blue?
Because I just missed you in the sky.
Are you on the edge of breaking down from broken Powder puffs, make up tears?
I can patch them up for you, your miserable mascaras with laughter and Kiss 100.
So let the pure garage groove take over your body and your soul.
Clench like there's no letting go of this pear shaped butty.
Let's play Animal Instincts on the outskirts of your arms, turning to branches.
Feel me reach your leaves, laid back as the guilt of silent night dreams.
The idea of perfection is alone, and needs not errors of flaw making, but errors of love making sandals.
Is your curves the size of a Coke bottle?
Cos if it is, I want to sip the continents under your tattooed belly, make those painted nipples feel hard behind your soft T-shirt white.
Are you afraid of experiencing the inserting of a man's erection when he's in love or feeling excited?
Feeling the violated steps cling onto your trembling thighs because you're not ready for his cum.
Don't be scared, don't be shy of another's taste for sex.
See lust is everywhere, still you will not open your door to unwanted guests.
But we're all strangers, perverts, lustful demons in this outgrowing universe.
The touching stars melt in your pot of honey.
I'm golden from the pyramids up your spine, I release you.
I embrace your portrait of Ms Pandora's Box on my bedroom wall.
I envisioned your open lid being tampered, crazed Halloween fantasies float in despair, finding the calmness of your soul through your painted H&M condolences on shopping plagues.
Body beautiful, never experienced the luxury of your Stacey's breasts portrait.
The body turned to art, the big blob turned to melting your love like a shower of milky stars.
This is what your body gets, this is your body was yearning for.
Somebody close as who, somebody close as her, somebody close like Hollicks.
Hot in your cup, it keeps you warm like radiators were your trustworthy blankets.
Yes dream girl, I was thinking about you, in that night dress, wishing you were here.
And yes you do have an incredible body, incredible bosoms that poke out predominately.
I was on the Internet, searching your site.com, or hit me on twitter I'll stalk your sexiness wherever it goes.
Behind closed curtains I am there, with the orchestrated jazz.
By your balcony, I am the Stevie Wonder giving you My Cherie Amour.
If your body misses love kisses, or touches that gives you what you need.
Just remember no one but no one can do you like I can.

Artistry pt2

The skateboard tale is epic, the ride is skeptic like lighting bolts and sticks feeling hopeless.
I am the artist with empty canvases, visualising the natural imagery, brush strokes to talk open hearted my concept.
Thoughts parallel to create his exhibited blob the walk.
Elaborate his colourful wheel to spin spin spin my plans of palette jazz.
Let The Victoria & Albert Museum rise from the page.
Let it create manifest its tides to watercolour orchestration.

Don't try to hide your skateboard flows.
I was there scouting your crew's tricks.
I've drawn the freelancer that energises wavy thrusts, the Bansky burials of Graffiti language, settling in college buildings.
The urban art for future generations.
I was the Art and the Design department of your course.
Settling on residential walls that causes controversial migration, authorities cleaning your controversy.
Warning young offenders a £500 fine will hang on your name, and yet you know the ground so well.
That's why they run, creating spray can destructions.
See language is trivial, you know the chalks are watching those pavements the travellers just keep on walking not caring, not staring at your fate.
It's in your space so own it.
Go on it's in your space so own it.
Grab it before it's too late, it's in your space so OWN IT!!!
Your skateboard shows ramps on Nimbus, fly into space, land on Jupiter if you must.
Take trips to space cadets, take the Trafalgar Square Bus tour on the rise through Sky sanctuary, go and see...everything.
Everything in Tony Hawkes inspires me, encourages me to mold your made up fantasy life to the extreme.
Live the way you want it without restrictions or limits.

I told you the tale is epic, I told you the tale is epic.
Don't deny your youthful light on those swings, open space said "express my child, go ahead and express your arts, use prix stick from children's trays, paper mache dreams, Captain America made of Marvel straws. Use the tools of brown sugar. Use the 2B lead, compass your globe, invent your own country."
Clapham Common hasn't forgotten your basketball dreams.
I play the one on one of the court.
The BMX don't mind, where your chalk dreams your nursery scribbles.
The kids don't mind the creations dabbed on your sketchbook lookouts.
I've drawn the Mutsang GT on sunset fun set, I've burned the background into 60 degrees.
Don't try and hide the wind brush that tells magical places and masterpieces.
Treasure lands are your astronomy, so shove thirty telescopes in Mallorca, she'll let you in her world.
Invite thousands of alcoholics to her whore poetry Magaluf.
Don't let unwanted peers ruin your ambition, scribble your dreams to fly with the impressionism.
I don't care for lost times in clubs, the ladies will find the next player in army shorts and NBA vest.
I don't care for your trendy Pumas giving the heads up to be hip like Justin Biber.
The artistry shares expressionism on another canvas in Tate Modern shores, photography looks at the shadows that inspire life on Emmanuelle, life as Taylor Wessing.
Let the life drawings glow on my palms, let them feel your perspective catch the tunnel from the distance.
Let the naked wall paint your Rubix Cube that paints cubism to another world distant than Pluto.
Exhibition has birds fluttering god's angels that speak lighting, Zeus powers generating mythology to life.
The crust is descending your moon biscuit.
I went to National Portrait Gallery and rooted for Turner paintings is watercolour beautiful, Van Gogh impressionism captures my imagination on those New York nights in the stars, spotlight cars will flair their headlights in your alleyway.

He told me to be the conductor of your science museum let my works connect, let the drums commence your Mars to rock.
Stick magic in your trumpet dome, your golden silence shall awaken Barbican poets and beyond your human brush can colour.
Your human brush will open the vortex to beauty canvas all over the make ups you wear, all the earrings glistening lost diamonds crust of hope.

I told you the tale is epic.

Forever treason, your art smothers me from mosaic scriptures, painted Pre-Raphaelites to artistically connect me with me.
I felt episodes of your William Morris tattooed on my brown skin nature's world to be evergreen, I was like word.
Your Bristol Museum doesn't know me well, doesn't believe my art exists, I've only met you once on the motoway.
Shall we glide on the hard shoulder, steal the 57 miles of Blackpool.
The real life is a canvas, life inherits colour cos without colour there is no canvas.

I told you the tale is epic.
I told you the tale is epic.
I told you the tale is epic.

A dreamer

If the sun rays were the loop of golden hoops, I'll skip them.
I be the dreamer on the fairy cake clouds on dessert island.
The moon waffle dreamer of the bay, while birds collage the blonde woman in Washington wide screen.
I dream for world's domination, internationally known as a whole world tour being.
The human beings I write them in my sleep shall remain nameless.
The journal stays awake 24/7 by my pillow case, visually darting my thoughts as I snore them into my sleep.
Now wait a second, did I say world domination at hand?
I mean the world's domination for the lost ancient talents with forgotten ambitions to uphold themselves.
Dreaming we can be those things, those things on posters, "It was spectacular, best performer, absolutely amazing."
Those things on Sky TV.
We can be that radio personality for BBC Radio on Capital FM.
This is domination for true identity of not forgetting, not forgetting where you came from.
Not forgetting milky dreams that fill bowls of cereal like Cheereos.
I claim myself as the uniqueness of the universe.
For I am Unique I am Edward I am Edward Unique, I am Edward Unique I run with my artistry, like minions of set in its prime time.
Slam my competition on TV to blow up in your face.
Dominate the spoken word scene like a Ben Affelik, completed The Poetry That I Am poetry short film.
Domination on helping communities.
Battersea Arts Centre I work with, we are one.
Libraries are countries I seek like a National Geographic explorer, countries I discover cultural identities like it was astronomy.
I dream for success in the Creative Arts, director like John Singleton.
Writer like Stephen King, even though he's a horror novelist, not every life is a horror flick.
Cubist like Picasso, a poet like Saul Williams.

Tate Modern is mine, National Portrait Gallery is mine, the culture my mum's inheritance of Mother Africa.
Gold Coast Ghana I wanna speak like thee, live like thee, understand like thee in the sun burning eternally.
Take me away from the Western country, where there's no cultural integrity to explore.
But my eyes are open, riding the clouds like a Ghost Rider the road is the path to longevity as I do it for the love over illuminati.
No money strains can match passion in pennies, cos love like this don't cost a thing.
I dream of American discovery, overseas opportunities not restricted by surveillance, spoken word spots all over the States I encounter notebooks like a journal on the Tube, but in this case it's a subway.
But like Tyrese, I dream with my eyes open to possibilities unknown.
Never overlook a challenge, try my hardest to fly on nemesis through weather conditions of a British weather.

I continue to dream, dream dream and dream.
Wake up from the coma, smell the aroma and make it happen like it's reality.
I dream for brothers, our brothers to step their game up, the world's an XBOX360, a Nintendo DS, learn the game like you play Call of Duty, the world is in the great depression, don't catch me off guard, I'm Splinter Cell in the shadows I am a dreamer for ambition and creativity, a centre for The Talented and Gifted people, where there is equal opportunities on such thing as the black sheep of the family, where there's life, energy and excitement in spaces closed behind doors number 1 2 and 3.
Gifts not to be thrown in death sentences, dramas that sidetrack misguided steps into street life, gang bangs your life away in the danger zone, drunken friends throwing their lives into Smirnoff's, LSD and Crack.

Forever I am a dreamer, I am a dreamer, not a dreamer in my sleep, a dreamer for miracles to come true, surprises to enhance your eyes, dreams of thug's mansion, just us and the guitarist playing dear mama while the heavens blow open the purely gates.
So what do these dreams mean to me?
If there's no spark in the fire, if there's no highlights to start a match without a stadium.
If there's no Italian serving us spaghetti bolonaise, my taste buds can't dance with the flavours.
For my dreams, I will prosper becoming the things I wanna be.
The television in a wide screen option is too much, Sky doesn't define the star that I am.
Pictures no cameras can capture in Snappy Shots, the picture is me rolling in a Volkswagon Golf, no automatic gears will change my drive on the go.
On the motoways to freedom, on the dual carriageways to a journey I've never traveled before...divide my ways for what I want to be, what do I desire in my empty pockets?
What do I require for my family to receive for tomorrow or what the future holds for them?
We can't always dream for the things we want or the things we crave in HMVs latest CDs, latest DVDs will keep us entertained, Foot Lockers or JD Sports, wearing the trainers that don't fit.
It's about world discovery, world impact, it's about allowing the world to experience your artistry, experience your thoughts, the brush of mine will never settle for anything less, it has all the tools, all the colours to inspire young minds alike, we are the future for the 21st century's elites.

We are lovers of the vibes, all that jazz, music and all those words I conjure up into...therapeutic poetry, contemporary artistry, I add acrylics to my wordplays, wordsmiths I educate children with low self esteem, if only I could get to school, be involved in their lives, I'm their semi-skinned milk that fills the void.
No time for parenting  behind closed curtains, 9 to 5, careers missing can't see the growth in ideas planted in skull minded.
I'm not supposed to see through the invisible, and conquer the impossible.
But I'm suppose to be the pioneer of my destiny, be the established artist of my time.
Theatre plays I write, the organiser of events, the one with the visionary, the master with the plan.
Forever I am a dreamer, not a dreamer of things I see on television, the things I wanna be in life if I want it I go get it.
It's impossible but possible to dream big as the size of Jupiter.
I live a single life but must do a double life for finance, must maintain artistic vision at all times to the big screen.
Yes, when I was young I dreamed of having a Mercedes Benz, four pretty women in bikinis and a mansion in Beverly Hills.
But what's it all worth at the end of the day?
Is art worthless without a J M T Turner?
The blob illusion only existing in stupid minds impossible to conquer.
You can do anything, be anything you want.
Just imagine it will happen to you, nobody should claim your dream but you.
What do these dreams mean to me?
What are the possibilities in doing what you love best?
So tell me, what is the use of dreaming, if we're not ready to fulfil them.

Chocolate tears

She wanted your Twix milk chocolate eyes to see caramel cones that can groan.
He was talking about the Malteasers that was shimmering the factory to floating butterflies.
So the melted dreams tasted like bunny rabbits on a summer's day, they hop they skip they jump.
Because it was their Easter time, and I wanted to hunt all of your Easter eggs in one basket.
Tears that feed your nourished bread crumbs, and I thought the pigeons were in love with Jaffa Cakes that rose like bosoms.
I swam into Cabury's bubble bath one time, and the tub had my heartfelt water running your clueless chimes like Winter days were walking into winter nights.
Now look, it's 7.30 in the morning, the hot burning sun giving odor bacteria the smelly morning, and their sweat reminds me of hot chocolate coco.
Your chocolate tears gives me the lumps, one or two lumps in fact.
I had headaches measuring my pain has heartache.
And no sugar is sweeter than your Apple cider, ringing your Adam's Apple like a yo you up and down up and down up and down up and down.
For crying out loud, my tears rang out to shed, who let the dogs out?
The agitated dog barks your missing bridges, I was chased by the glowing moon and the Big Ben called for a chocolate dip in the tea house of ceremonies.
I cried and I cried and I cried and I cried like the baby I was, in Butlin's Town, there was no jelly baby near to smother me up.
The tears melt on my tongue, and the bubbling Nesquick rushes in like Coco Pops was in town.
She never wanted the taste to turn sour, when two lovers combine Milky Bar and Hazel Nutella climaxes.
Ready to twist the nourished toffee plums of your so called cherished soul, so why dry those blueberry eyes?
Why sink so low with this coffee cup?
Why must you forget I was your number one fan?
I have sweated so bad so bad for your taste buds to clench my anger.
You can't see it melting from my wrappers, so my chocolate tears will sing for me when I cry this Kinder Surprise up loud.
She felt intrigued by my syllables anchoring home made Crunchy.
The caramel serpent sharing lust these days on apples that croak sesame seeds to bleed on its knees.
So we need your unconditional love to embrace, unpainted love to rub our tattooed tears of tasteless chocolate butter on our fingers.
It was sticky at first, then made the out come look so icky as tenacity had a miscarriage.
These tears won't stop being so empty, with no Sprite to split up the Coke on Foster's coaster.
Take a look at the young squinting his facial expression.
See the generations of untold sorrows lie in their pupils that hide in shades of true colours that display the black and white photography.
Let the chocolate tears be the recipe for crying souls unknown.
Let the teardrop from coated tears be the factory of semi-skinned milk cartons of the missing child.
Let each teardrop be the Starbucks of the syrup cup.
Let the remembrance be the resurrecting for shared out chocolate tears.

Forever young is never too late

Forever it was me, him and her.
First born squirming out the womb, that's me.
Experience the bright lights.
My eyes puddled with tears.
Still couldn't open yet.
The young two siblings yet to be born later on, that's them.
Being young for XBOX we couldn't afford it.
The young kids brought in Britain.
Imagine London like Greece, but computers have covered the lost beaches of Athens.
Sprung for Duncan yo-yos, butterfly flatter.
Yomega X Brain that slides like.
Silver surfer.
Yomega was the epiphany of the school grounds.
That's right I wanted one.
Fit in with the rest of the peers.
Yo yos were in fashion school popularity, the young in teens Converse shoes, Nike Air Max, Reebok Classics that football pub fans endured.
But we had PlayStation One when I was playing Spyro The Dragon at Toys R Us.
And Two grew along into our lives when Tekken 4 was out on Christmas.

Young for cartoons in the morning, waking me, singing me alarm spells sleepless lights.
7am for Dexter's Laboratory, eating plastic picture bowls of Rice Krispies, snap,  crackle and pop.
But the childhood was only temporary through domestic chores that took us to adulthood quicker.
No time for young snacks that sweeten the tooth.
Maths being the golden subject for problems ahead of time.
Be grateful for what you have, but my stubborn mind wouldn't understand I just wanted to be like them.
You know those juvenile delinquents.

Forever a bowl of Ready Break, boiled eggs and sausages.
Sometimes I like some cheese on toast, watching Walt Disney classics giggles it's rubber like the Flubber.
The Great Mouse Detective I stole from Blockbuster's, no surveillance at Clapham Junction, back then.
Toy Story, Pocahontas adventures made us inspired by animation movies.
Acting our favourite character.
Living under our parents roof, going by grand rules, running around Patmore Estate, park on Deeley Rd, skateboard park at Carey Gardens, BMX, Apollo Mountain Bikes.
Kids spraying water pistols in the summertime it was the wettest summer to date.
Battersea Park was my lyrical adventure playground, we use to enjoy amusement parks, ice cream trucks passing grey turfs, by the football astro turfs.
Skateboards, Rollerblades skating footpaths like a Skating Rink.
Let those mountain bikes sink down Silverthrone Road, all those jitters racing my body.
Kids riding their scooters they got on their birthdays, Christmas Day was a little more frosty.
Roads frozen like an ice rink, I need Guildford's ice skate shoes, come do ice hockey with us.
Living life like a Final Fantasy, bees make noises through Richmond Park's forests.
But they want to play Nintendo 64s, I felt like Super Nintendo in the 90s and Sega Mega Drive in bedrooms keeping them away from the real world.

They want the trendy Nikes and Reebok belong to peer groups with the swaggers.
The colourful laces keeping it hip with your homeboys, your homegirls that come from the hood.
But she wants me to stay, my sister she wants the whole family under one roof along with her Nintendo Wii, her Alicia Keys, Beyonce CDs.
Her unconditional love on BB messenger is what keeps me comfort.
Awwwww, look at that baby faced sister on the iPodTouch pictures.
Cheeks plumed like sugar plums sweet as the Malteasers melting chocolate tears, melting fears in wrappers I share from Celebrations.
Forever she will be my baby sister, the fan of Michael Jackson.
Forever he is a computer analysis of digital technology.
Don't worry...it's cool to have an iPodTouch.

Forever I stay vibrant and lively like the frying pans and grills burning with fire.
Cooking up like hot dogs ready to be devoured, dancing taste buds sensations like I was forever young, forever fresh, forever living the life of a youngster.
Nosey, cheeky, don't know what to do.
But the youngster lives in me.
The younger mind won't leave my old soul inside the real world.
When I tell these stories, these young books Winni the Pooh children will understand, forever young is never too late.

100%

Pt.1

It's going and going high over the limits.
Watch me saw like an eagle off the edge of Mountain Missouri.
Take the 99 to 1 out of the equation.
Fraction of a 100 and replace the 95 with a plus.
As I'm pushing these Upper Richmond Roads, Shopping Centre walls out of this jurisdiction context.
And yes fellow residents, I'm pushing these lousy Deeley Road songs out of the project windows.
Riding your dark alleys to Steward's Road.
The light that takes away the cold balconies to Alaska.
I'm freezing, uplifting these insanity weights from the Christian country of souls.
Leads Earth soils to the moon lust looking so holy...
I'm losing my ring doughnut glaze to morning double sausage, and sizzling egg muffin meal breakfast.
Lazy afternoon jam tarts filled with strawberry temptations, and evening apple turnovers weight to the Greggs fat obese sugar.
That won't slow my arduous journey on climbing ladders to the Mountain Kenya.
Linkin Park and Busta said "WE MADE IT!" Yes sir, we finally made it.

So the strong gain longevity like the growth of Solar energy.
I eat healthy ASDA organically so let my spirits live on wisely dear son.
Live on this wing of phoenix.
Live oh dear God save me.
Live on this path of righteousness.
I draw the one I love in Margate Theme Parks.
Screaming children, teenagers yelling the Dream ride thrills.
With the town centre colours that gives Hyde Park beauty kites and light.
I'm living life broadly so the surf is up.
All around fantastically.
Oh yes amazingly fun indeed.
It's exciting.
Portraying life poetically and my art is the Southbank artistically I live it.
The literature is my Poetry Library Theatre.
Open up I tell as it is in monologues as an Emotional Day Shakespeare.
Everyday like twine it's above 50 per cent I'm counting.
Enough to hit 60 per cent and over the hurdles we go.

So the Creative Arts is giving you my all a 100 per cent full mode.
As I play the ukulele and nothing less of my pennies worth.
Can afford this street square dance.
No less than 40 per cent average of my lips worth.
So let's kiss on the spot.
Kiss.
Kiss...kiss on the Poetry Slam while everyone observes...
Don't worry sweetheart, it's alright...they'll cheer.
They'll cheer our kiss till there's no half size knickers.
Soaking 50 per cent of her cum.
Cos there's a part time sex on the beach who calls himself that.
Mr lover lover.
Everything excels in excellence, like rock n roll poetry is energy fuel.
And I'm the Ferrari that sparks the horse power.
Oh my God guitars break out electrocution, explosive rapture we're aiming higher.
Destructive as we're coming, we're coming, we're coming hard.
It will make your eyes wide open.
Your eardrums pop.
It's infinitely a 110 per cent and over the valleys we go.
The O2 Arena crowd screams for more "cheer"
And more "cheer".
And more "cheer".
And more "cheer".
And more "cheer".
Coming in with an encore.

Pt.2

Open the curtains live.
And witness an international sensation before your eyes.
Knocking down your ginger doors than your average gimmick open micker.
My words spit artistically like Piccaso.
So send the cubist my way.
While ideas spiral shapes and forms like a brainstorm exhibition.
Smoker of your casual time.
No pub will hire you back in.
I'll be more addicted like nicotine.
Leave  a stigma taste on your tongue.
Begging for more.
Begging your Queen Elizabeth Pound notes to smoke me out of the blues.
You may not like the taste of my poems that stink your breath.
Stink your clothes that grabs shopaholic's attention.
But enjoy it at the same time.
Because I'm The Chronic.

Awwww sweet sweet darling, metaphorical sweetheart.
Could you write something romantic, steamy, passionate for the ladies please?
Excite them with your oohh sexy ways and your dirty talk....oooooh you're such a naughty boy.
Erotic poetry is a must, as I gets it in a 100 per cent.
Like billions of stars lit up near your face.
But it's excitement you're wanting.
The topic wants nothing but the best.
Faster and powerful moves on your desk page.
Follow the leader on the dancing stage.
It's an A plus versus your E minus grade average.
And no degree loves you like that.
Who respects your percentage hustle in a hurry for cheers like this.
I'm all over your numbers like mathematics, the subject matter is...
I'm not giving you my heart or my soul, I'm giving you my all.

My words.
My thoughts.
My rhymes.
My art.
My imagery.
My world.
My passion.
My sweat and tears that leak.
My thousand verses that speak.
Here take it.
It's my all that counts right?
So my effort is to push boundaries up Larkhall Park hills.
Treat it like the Crystal Palace jewel of the Jubilee.
My all that lifts up kg weights in your local gym, Fitness First.
My all to give street lights the blinkity blink 24/7.
The carnage that creeps with empathy and organic traits.
I give you full power from my Daurecel.
Full moon will let your nightlife live.
A full circle of my sphere.
A round house of collective portraits that waves watercolour lakes out of control.
Poster colour skies.
I give you my full time commitment to this job.
I give you my full time education to this role.
Cos words I speak and seek.
Know how to teach ideology.
Know how to reach philosophy in another level on your mic.
I have reached my goal.
I have succeeded the best way possible.
But there's a lot of work to be done.

Feel me go hard, as I turn this mic into stone.
Feel me go concrete with this vast poetry that made the rose grow.
Feel me go all the way like a South West Train to my destination...galleries on Passing clouds.
They see me sky high on a blimp.
Sky dive with easy jet.
I never let go of promises I made to dreams I must assemble.
I must draw my all in landscapes that reach your artistry of vision.
So you can see it.
Picture it your interior design that entwines your full happiness for clean house.
This is my everything you see you get.
This is my all that infinite voice will never settle for less.
This is the beginning chapter of the prodigal son.
This is my 100 per cent I put in Coolspot game play.
This life is a game and you have to play it to the fullest.
Don't lose, don't die 1UP is not giving you an extra life to come back where you left.
Clock it before it's too late.
Cos 100 per cent is all I asked for.

Body beautiful

I've been...dreaming for this, seducing this, fantasising for this, soul searching your body chords that tingle.
Sharing your voice all over the world that mingle.
Finding secrets through your body figures of Playboy magazines that excite me.
FHM magazines that recite every eye candy I envision.
And Maxine looks like (wolf whistle) HD.
Your body is the dessert cream pie I want for dessert secrets.
Dessert spoon turning Victorian sponge cake fantasies like pornographic visions.
The dessert of whipped cream pie on rock nipples hard as Rolo.
Or the body as the milky bar as Sara Jay.
And I can trace your curves through blue velvet covers.
Munch your belly button like it was Ferrero Rocher.
Blue dreams washing those briefs off.
Push up bra giving that Sisqo vibe in your Lingerie thongs.
Love making is like cookies and ice cream.
I'll be the ice cream truck, and you can be my delighted splendid customer.
I'll come over and scoop you up from the pavement.
With flavours you couldn't possibly resist, making you my Strawberry Cornetto.
Your body is like the Cabury's I bought from ASDA or Sainsbury's.
You put a price tag on your tender loins I can't possibly put my hands on.
Curves filling lusting deeds I would do to you in the Devil's bed.

You keep your body closed in jackets in cold moments.
Not to reveal your inner beauty, cos your heart is snowy like December.
Your outer beauty yells out, she tells you "don't, do not reveal your inner nature to the world. They'll laugh at you, mock you till you shrivel like a rasin...it's embarrassing."
C'mon Ms Panther, release your freak of nature, your inner grizzly, your inner being that allows you to be free from these handcuffs.
Free from society's perception of another celebrity clone Christina Aguilera no fan would marry.
Just be by your side for your looks in make up.
Attracted to artificial appearances. 
Would they fall in love for your natural beauty, or dump you in the middle of goodnight sex from foot fetish?
I never exhausted your body for sex.
Even though I do have to admit it's quite tempting.
You do need to get some pleasure out of my lips, I've saved for someone special in my life.

Let me be the Boys II Men lover.
Sing you the melodies I'll Make Love To You.
Close your curious eyes release you from depression and insecurities you keep yourself locked in prison of doubt, and loneliness.
Let my fingers drive your hair fuzzy.
Your body cringe with anxiety you missed touches like this.
Touches like the number one feel for my finger chronicles.
Closeness when I sleep with you tonight.
The cuddles after our love making breaks virginity vows.
The bed closer than midnight windows casting nightmares upon sheets covering our shame.
So please, please don't deny your dangling breasts.
Cups that fill your milk size jugs.
Don't deny the woman you are.
Don't deny  yourself, or destroy yourself through industry demands.

Because I'm only saying your body is popping like champagne.
Banging like fireworks.
Let's have a toast.
A celebration for body beautiful no matter what others say.
You'll always be my Creme de la creme.
My Snickers of satisfaction.
My Munches of mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm, my Galaxy.
CRUNCH here I am Venus.
And my Twix lover of two because I want you.