by Willie L. Green

I saw you at the party
I could hardly
Get the nerve to look at you
Couldn't figure your game
Didn't know your name
But I could tell that
Someone in my crowd
Was the subject of your aim
The purpose of my plan
Was to become that man
Stand, my ground
Trace my fingertip
Along that beautiful brown skin
That saucy brown round
Had me contemplating corrupt
Passion notions
You made the first motion
Gave me a proper chance
To no surprise
I would rise to the occasion
Not wasting
My time
How was I to know
That you had already
Made up your mind
I would soon find
That I was not the only one
With indecent contemplation
That this could be your game
Your manipulation

Manipulations by Willie L. Green

© Copyright 2000. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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