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To Sunderland; I Leave My Heart

By: Carlton A. Armistad ["Love Doesn't Ask You Why"]

By Andrew LittlePublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 2 min read
[NB: Jean Michel Basquiat courtesy of the Crichlow Gallery's Facebook Page]

1. Beautifully bodacious & blooming, but sultry in His approach, that is how He hesitantly hovered over My quiet spirit, until I found Myself drawn to every rhythmic wave of his harmonious hands taking the melodic sound down through His sensual shoulders, then releasing the next move with climatic collisions and precision so His hips made the decision to ignite this hypnotic process all over again.

2. Spirited & flawless, the lamp-light from his huge room bathed him in this continual glow of beautiful raw rays of Energy I could drown in for days. Maybe even convince what was left of Me, that felt I needed this, Mr. Sunderland deserved the heart & empathetic spirit of my un-spoilt soul. For Sunderland had never loved, afraid of the seriousness & promise it required of him, would have to give back to him and the many changes in between. Still; to him, my royally rich chocolatey skin and dark brown tinted dreadlocks set against my mocha filled luscious lips had Him wondering just a few seconds of each minute, was this the electric energy needed to make his very soul taste ecstasy for the rest of what could potentially be the best days of his life.

3. Desire, did I truly desire this young man or was it only his youth, and the naivety that accompanied his innocently open eyes, declaring Me his exquisite prize, that made purposefully penetrative passion surge all over my 6foot 5 inches frame; unashamed that I told myself these moments were no longer for Me, yet see Mr. Sunderland had Me in His wonderful soft palm, leaving me alarmed at what was to be or not..to be.

4. Conversation flowed like the right bottle of carefully selected vintage wine had been opened, served with a pure honesty, and wanting even to Us the randomness of this our unexpected blessed beginning sowed slight sought-after moments of our very souls' energies throwing caution to the 4 winds, and bonding with such deep and meaningful magic, how could either of Us not need to see where this would take Us, knowing it could in its abandon break Us, yet I had to possess every moment of his naked nocturnal demands, the first rush from the touch of his hands as Sunderland grounded and grooved His heated Frame against my tall full yet-to-be tamed Body. Knowing I would, against my better judgement be forced to give Him all of Me.

[End.]

First Draftinspirationallove poemsperformance poetrysurreal poetry

About the Creator

Andrew Little

Carlton A. Armistad is the pseudonym for Andrew R. Little. I prefer writing under this as it allows me to look at any body of work I complete separate to my personal day-to-existence, and safeguards my relationships and family.

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