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DISCLAMER!

Contents for mature adults 18 years or older. May include explicit language and themes not suitable children.

Poetically written for the art of poetry with an open mind and point of view. To stimulate the sensual side of our most intimate desires and fantasies.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Mother Nature

Respect Mother Nature who is merciful. Or pay the toll of her wrath.
Your choice...
MY STORM PARAMOUNT AMONG MY KING
You are the eye of my storm that has my restless body tossed aimlessly until it lands perfectly on your monumental structure. I bow and worship before the structural perfectly designed and erected under my wet stormy sky. Your pyramid is standing so strong and tall no other building comes close to its perfection as it stands alone. As I sit at the mound I shape my hands around the base to frame the master piece ready to climb to the top. So high and majestic, your roof top touching my clouds. My fog showers the land to renew the dry desert of it's oasis of heat. When the earth quakes rocking your tower, my storm crash with the sound of clashing thunder. What was once a desert is a river of my love that flows so deep around your valley of Kings.
THE WRATH OF MOTHER NATURE
You are the eye of my storm that has my restless body tossed aimlessly until it lands perfectly on your monumental structure. Forecast call for thunderous storms ahead. Your pyramid is standing so strong and tall no other building comes close to its perfection as it stands alone. Visibility is very dense clouding all sensibility among all pollution with no warning. Take heed and cover for shelter before the hail knocks you out. My fog showers the land to renew the dry desert of it's oasis from the pollution created by Mother Nature. Don’t trust Mother while she can appear very appealing with a smile captivating like the cool breeze during the summer nights. That precipitation what appears to look like and feel like purely mist is if truth be told nothing but pollution contaminating all the land that we had built. The earth quakes rocking your tower, beneath my storm crash with the sound of clashing thunder. What was once a beautiful Sahara is a river of my raft that flows so deep around your valley of your Kings. Because you engulf in all of Mother’s glory now the land is nothing more than a dried out desert not even fit for a jackal.
P.S. (Poetically Seductive)
Now you know why they call me Mother of Nature who fucked Father of Time and now green eyed ~@-@~ Karma is losing her mind.
Cheri Noire @;~;~~

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