Gotta love
us brown girls, munching on fat, swinging blue hips,
decked out
in shells and splashes, Lawdie, bringing them woo hips.
As the
jukebox teases, watch my sistas throat the heartbreak,
inhaling
bassline, cracking backbone and singing thru hips.
Like
something boneless, we glide silent, seeping ‘tween floorboards,
wrapping
around the hims, and ooh wee, clinging like glue hips.
Engines
grinding, rotating, smokin’, gotta pull back some.
Natural
minds are lost at the mere sight of ringing true hips.
Gotta love
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