Jail Needs

Every place whereon the souls of your feet parch shall be yours,

The cold that flu from the dirt of the blue cannot overtake the inside of your pores,

It is love that pumps out of your flesh that I look,

The story telling the escape from the book,

I leave in your presence joining the fate of millions salivating the rocks,

As you move me twisted into the penetration of chalk,

Sleeping with your words beside my chest,

Caressing your lips in a peaceful rest,

The art of doing as typical the nature of encountering,

Expressing your passion around your canopy,

The share husk corn good for reaping,

For all my souls I pray my Lord is keeping,

This life is retaining the goal of a champ,

Living to behave as the light of the lamp,

U guide me into the room,

Beads only for one that considered my doom,

An exception I’ve made to understand U,

Forsaken the numbers I find in tools.