by Joseph Brooke©

Island heat, swollen lips, sex and a savant of
pleasure and now desperate for ice chips, white rum, a
cigarette and burnt cooled winds and lightening shards
thumping near the black clouds and free falling nylons
near the orchid vase, pouting, coal smudges rimming
her drooping eyes, baby is smoldering from the island
breeze, sweat and blood and pain and pleasure, black
wet hair as tendrils dripping down her copper breasts,
I'm mesmerized, for I can smell her, taste her, hear
the undulating pulse of her purring and the blood is
pounding in my head as perspiration on her brown belly
makes me wild and sex and my senses are going

for her wet skin glows, ignites, sparks and flames,
and I want more, a lot more, for now I'm fucked
because I'm in love, and I promised I wouldn't do that
no more, but under those eyelids I saw God, or the
devil, and in the end I didnt care if i drowned in
those eyes, and I did, and if I die right now, what
does it matter, at least I lived for a moment in those
arms, those amazing arms...........
About Joseph,
Joseph is a painter, ex master of
jewelry and ceramics and of course writer that has
lived in Paris, Milan, Dublin and London for 10 years.
He spent another 15 years travelling the complete
breath of S. America, Africa, Asia and the Middle East
as well as several islands in the Carib. He has had some
success as a screenwriter. Currently he live on a remote
beach in Zipolite Mexico, where he built a house. Joseph has
1000 poems and 6, 500 to 600 page novels completed. His
work is very erotic, very eclectic,  genius, exotically beautiful
and savage, and about  bi-sexual very troubled women.
Joseph writes only for women.  
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