Tuesday, June 28, 2016

"The Booty"

"The Booty" 

Attention captured in your stroll.
Control toyed with.
Annoyed by the cars
and light poles
and buildings
and people interrupting my focus.
No less the fact
that you don't grace my path
often enough. 

Eyes closer than hands can be.
Felt so much through what I see.
Sight a grip so firm for me
that I'd risk you noticing.
Not like you don't know if he
is sitting where I am right now
as you put on this show for free
while I sit here and wonder how
something could look so pleasing.
Defined in jeans and shorts
but in skirts you're teasing.
Slow motion stares.

and I might wanna feel
just to check for a fever.
I wonder if it's real.
You can make me a believer.
You might just take my soul
if the hole gets any deeper.
And honestly,
I'd put it to my face like some speakers.

Lap as bare
as the skin I fancy.
Eyes trained when you're dancing.
Focused on your frame.
I'm sure you've noticed all the same
but they won't do what I'm thinking to.
Drinking from the fountain
of thoughts so in decent
that mere mention would command privacy.
Privately pleasuring myself
to the way your waves crash...
I can't stand you
and can't stand after release.
You my piece.
My peace through perversion
that I'm sure would enjoy the show
as often as your movement incites performance.
Sit down
and let me drown in the essence.
Make sounds
as I expound upon the presence
well hung with a tongue
keen on savoring the mixture.
I long, I eat
so have a seat
upon so permanent a fixture.

He had too much of me
Now he leaves pleasantly
Under me,
he's over me
So I can succeed
Wrapped in skin he never knew from within
so he shakes me
Makes me feel his
claws on my cheeks
Makes me suck his thoughts
while his mouth makes me weak
He's under me,
he's over me
Admiring me intensely,
awaiting the booty. 

I can't help how it bounces when I walk
or jiggle when I talk
I can twerk it in your face
and make you never leave the shade. 

A willful submission
to something naturally made
I'm BLACK and I'm seasoned with tremendous waves
Can't spell cellulite without u lit
and I'm well equipped with supreme goddess shit
You know how much knowledge I hold
in my behind without looking behind
or pressing rewind
to learn the minds of the naked indigenous
rhymes in gold mines
I tell you everything because u can hear me
I tell u to go deeper so u can learn me
So much booty,
it's immaculate
So much wisdom
it's infinitely attractive. 

Are you even ready for this jelly?
Smack it,
bite it,
choke me til I'm blue.
Cumming in waves
like when u spank me
for being bad and telling the truth.

The small of my back is as big as the bounce
so be careful when u pounce. 

Ounce for ounce,
I'd drink your water.
The taste much harder to resist
with you resting on my wrists
and my shoulders
bent over
precision in every lick
incision envisioned between the lips
Honey gathered there
lathered and soaked in spit.
I've gathered where you should sit.
You pride in provoking shit.
The Savage magic of this
soft and smooth in my grip
to bare down and tear down
relaxed with face down elated
helping the booty grow. 

How deep before we know.... 

I reach out for it when asleep...

Pulling me closer to your needs. 

Rush of lust so well defined.

Incognegro through my minds whine. 

Seal ripped fresh for fruit this tender.

Slumbers too real;
circumference you can't conceal. 

Circumstantial this mantle my chin is placed upon.

Crowned with tender meat, 
ready to beat, 
so move ya feet and praise me.


This boundless blessing you gave me.....

Written By: Evelyn Rivera & Devin Joseph Metz

Monday, June 27, 2016



Losing sleep tonight
focused on the intentional.
The physical means.
That critical delay before dreams
as detailed as the thoughts are.
I'd be lying if I said
that I fought hard
and put forth some effort
to forget it
like that's even possible.
I bottle those recollections
and seal them tight
but it all bursts before sunlight. 

Someone might understand the semantics.
I've certainly never planned this secrecy.
How well you see me
in the dark
is a stark reminder
to what has become the primer
the precursor
the first coat
the initial soaked sheet in this bed.
Eyes red in restlessness
so I'm here confessing this much
only stopping to touch consistently.
she's a little outdated.
We've waited and waded
and the well still hasn't run dry.
We thought less of stopping by;
choosing instead to just think
of that cool drink. 

I'd sink in
if I blink while writing
words only worth reciting
in our stints of privacy.
Forced to move about quietly
pining over a past
proven to last
when all else eventually becomes stale.
Intriguing how a concept
so frail
can offer strength
to that which is deep seated.
Relived the worst things
with the best of outcomes
until relieved of such 

when I come 

a little closer.
Mind doubled over.
Times this sober
yet still hungover.
Flung over covers.
Tension is smothered.
Swung at it until my soul hovers
and I can feel the stains
ingrained as much into this fabric
as the decadence and havoc
that would become this tragic memory. 

This of we.
Enough for two
but there's none for me

and no more of you. 

I can't stand this truth... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

"Number 9"

"Number 9"

Level of lunacy
true to me.
Who is he
and why is he
so close to the edge?
That's just the shadow.
I'm years over the cliff
and through the narrows
still picking at bone marrow
scratching through the scraps
that I've scraped
while entertained by your
concept of a narrow escape.
Mind in a harrowing state.
The tip of the arrow through nape
that sealed your neck with your cape
before your spine dented the pavement.
Villainous pill
barely thrilled with theatrics
treating the actress
like the stunt double.
Anarchist antagonist
forcing the lead role
to cleave holes trapped under rubble
just to perceive the damsel in trouble.
Close enough to cuddle
before the hack and slash
stashed beneath the sash
that will disclose the wounds.
Confinement without the cage.
Concentrated conscious rage
that incremental age cannot impede against.
Seen where sense is barely common.
Scene with scent that rarely I'm in.
Nowhere close within the light.
Dark the shroud in plain sight
stainless when the rain hits
the skin against the cloth.
Thought spared after the action
regardless of reaction
or what factions stand in resistance.
The meager and the masses
will watch in horror
as the scars form too wide to scab over.
Stabs over target points.
Grabbed and disbarred the joints
to stand over like a druid
witnessing you lose your fluid
and your will to breathe.
No deed performed for need
or reaction
or retort.
No plot or penchant for greed.
Lost on logic.
Lustful sport.
Fallen Angel with black wings.
Feathers dark and talon sharp
ripping clothes,
slicing toes
and uprooting the concrete rose.
Testament to lack of mercy certainly.
Certain he discovered
hovering over
simply slumping you over
like my subject for dissection.
Vanguard of dereliction
much more physical than political in vision
and you still can't perceive
although a view this scenic
displays the genius indecence
of the beast marked Phoenix
circling back
before you fall back
as your essence is ripped raw
while the rest hangs from the claws..... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz