Seven Days
It evolves from the soul of my feet.
Makes me sing, dance and move
to melodic rhythms.
It comes as music.
It keeps my spirit peaceful and
my mind at ease.
Makes me give thanks and say Amen.
Its disguised as prayer.
I breathe in tune to each
play on words.
Each noun, adjective, each
and every verb and
it sounds like poetry to me.
I sit on Sundays giving
thanks to the most high
for allowing me to seek and use
my third eye.
It is realization.
I lay on Mondays,
knowing what I created was not a lie
but a means for me to get by.
And it has since advanced
from the soul of my feet, in between
thighs where him I meet.
Increasingly caressing his spirit,
his essence of what I need him to be
but I just need him to be there for me.
And when Tuesdays come they too go,
but not without me seeking knowledge
cause without it, I can not grow.
On Wednesdays,
I get depressed,
putting too much emphasis
on what I do not have.
Then I realize I am too blessed
to be stressed so
I lay without worry and rest.
Its rhythm pulsates in
the place pussys pop.
Knees get weak and men speak,
"Say my name! Girl say my name."
It is revolution, no it is revolutionary.
On Thursdays, I am weary,
my body is tired,
my mind a bit dreary.
It makes me exhausted without
exhausting all possibility.
It is life, the beautiful struggle,
the reflection of me.
On Fridays, it lay still,
listening to the song in my heart.
Watching the sway of my hips
neglecting the way my
breast part and settle when I lay
licking my lips.
On Saturdays I rest a bit,
cause seven days filled with
satisfaction Im not sure if my body
can handle any more of it.
It came as music but
leaves enjoyment.
copyright 2004 Nicole Wasson
It evolves from the soul of my feet.
Makes me sing, dance and move
to melodic rhythms.
It comes as music.
It keeps my spirit peaceful and
my mind at ease.
Makes me give thanks and say Amen.
Its disguised as prayer.
I breathe in tune to each
play on words.
Each noun, adjective, each
and every verb and
it sounds like poetry to me.
I sit on Sundays giving
thanks to the most high
for allowing me to seek and use
my third eye.
It is realization.
I lay on Mondays,
knowing what I created was not a lie
but a means for me to get by.
And it has since advanced
from the soul of my feet, in between
thighs where him I meet.
Increasingly caressing his spirit,
his essence of what I need him to be
but I just need him to be there for me.
And when Tuesdays come they too go,
but not without me seeking knowledge
cause without it, I can not grow.
On Wednesdays,
I get depressed,
putting too much emphasis
on what I do not have.
Then I realize I am too blessed
to be stressed so
I lay without worry and rest.
Its rhythm pulsates in
the place pussys pop.
Knees get weak and men speak,
"Say my name! Girl say my name."
It is revolution, no it is revolutionary.
On Thursdays, I am weary,
my body is tired,
my mind a bit dreary.
It makes me exhausted without
exhausting all possibility.
It is life, the beautiful struggle,
the reflection of me.
On Fridays, it lay still,
listening to the song in my heart.
Watching the sway of my hips
neglecting the way my
breast part and settle when I lay
licking my lips.
On Saturdays I rest a bit,
cause seven days filled with
satisfaction Im not sure if my body
can handle any more of it.
It came as music but
leaves enjoyment.
copyright 2004 Nicole Wasson
