It Could Happen..

Every once in a while,
I allow my ego out,
to feed it’s narcissistic,
oats,
my sultry gray pools work on cue,
as lashes bow,
working the,
magic of my wiles,
too gloat.
100% hetero,
utilizing my greedy gift
to accommodate all walks,
too shift and talk,
lovingly
of passages too my flow-etry,
Harlequin type,
hypnotic souletry, suburban
urban blend, mixed with a tinge of,
a voodistic ooze,
inside of my poetry.
To recognize my heaving breasts unrest,
my need,
to get life, off my chest.
Welcoming a world,
I spread eagle to love, in confidence, for compliments
from them,
that invest.
Tragic, how, I’m just good at it,
a little hood captive,
With aspect too proclaim,
a geniune grin,
in being,
one of the best.
Hoping one day too sit on the shelf next to the rest, the names that go unforgotten,
as I feel out my ways, too my stories quest.

Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright © 2017