And she bowed her head down as if to pray. Soon appeared her pencil and writing pad. The lead angrily swept across the page as tears rolled down her face as she thought of the past, those lost, and obstacles conquered. She scribbled relentlessly until her fingers ached, her hand fell limp and her burdens had been emptied onto the many pages now covered in lead stains. She writes again.....

November 6, 2011

Run Them Fingers

Through my hair, I don’t care

No wigs or loose weaves

My tresses scream touch me please

Long soft strokes from the root to the end

Don’t be afraid I just had them trimmed

Passionate caresses along my hairline

I close my eyes and daydream from this heavenly divine

Sensation and moment at peace

So run them fingers baby, run them please

No wigs or loose weaves just the occasional oil or grease

Hair milk or po–mad

Cause my hairs gone mad

Wild and running. Curl here curl there

Straight out the shower, curls falling everywhere

But you don’t mind

I can tell by the way you take your time

To admire, touch, gently pull back

Just like that

So you can admire my essence and exquisiteness

My strength, splendor, and daintiness

So let them run anyway they want to go

Run them fingers baby, but run them slow
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