By Torrance Stephens, aka Rawdawg
Don’t get mad at me because I want to cut up apples and sprinkle cinnamon in your bath water, or if I want to sprinkle ginger and honey all over you before licking it off.
I’m just me, and if you down with folk, that means you like long thickness, deeply buried in the darkness of your soma. And you won't even get mad if I cut open a Pomegranate and place the seeds in your wetness, retracting each one of them with my tongue.
I’m just me, and if you down with folk, that means you like long thickness, deeply buried in the darkness of your soma. And you won't even get mad if I cut open a Pomegranate and place the seeds in your wetness, retracting each one of them with my tongue.
That ain't nasty -- that’s passion!
Let me stop.
As a man I have desires, needs, wants, passions and penchants that, let us say, define my spiritual exchange with women. I acknowledge this in the simplest of terms for when I go to sleep I am rigid against my navel and I wake up the same way.
Rawdawg breaks it down further...