e-Paper Poetry of Vinx


​She’s a wild cat from the hottest tropical part

But its heat can’t compare to this African heart.

On the cain-chair beside the basketball court

Legs crossed, rays twinkling from her shipshape hat.
Brown skinny cat, she wore a black top to match

Her oily long shinny hairs, rolled up like a ratch

Smiling “I’m your type but not everybodys match”

Classic from the past to the future slow or in flash.

When she smiles, the guys tongues come out

Not a baller but for her you will take a shot

She’s the type, you pump the brake on sight

In the dark she lights a dreamers heart.

Smooth… her laps has no lapse, 

But could make the dreamer lost in relapse

She had this continence, ‘come hold me in your arms’…

But she’s a spitfire, go if you can roll the dice.
Arrogance goes with it, like the rim and tire

In a dreamland, she’s an overachieved desire

Clapped and smiled often but she’s a spitfire

The keys to her heart is not destroyable by fire.


Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: