Dear September,


I am controlled by this Bryiana,

What story has my face have told?

Her very presence sends a chill of electricity down my spine

A feeling of moist excitement trickle down my pants

Into the very depths of my groin

Her seduction is simply marvelous

Her dewy, fresh scent admixture of basil and Jasmine

Her dark, smoky skin seems to ruin my very appetite

Not out of disgust but out of unweaning want

She stalks inside and out of the sight of company’s gaze

Like a shy, sultry panther

Her walk is deliberate

Her touch is gentle

Her finger tips firm, yet fragile in its form


My appreciation of your frame has not yet been viewed or spoken

Or put on display in front of the company.

They do not know.

I secretly haunt you in my memories

Destined to never forget your every growing presence

Your jewels are to me as decorated lights are to Christmas.

They astonish me.

I dream at the nights where,

Our bodies are both parallel; touching at the hip

Your breast rises and falls as you sniff in my musty Dior odor

Your breath of a creamy brilliance


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