She walked with her hips grooving like sound waves in a microphone,
The wind ahead of her didn't stand a chance,
The squirrels awaited to peak under her dress,
All the men she walked passed winked and cat called her until she would blush something major,
Rosy dark brown cheeks and high heels clicking on her own beat,
Body pulsating to the rhythm of love,
No bra club so you see her nipples swaying with the trees,
Summertime highs will always leave her sweaty thighs drooling and clapping against one another,
She raises her hand and uplifts her dress as the sun beats down on her,
She tries to block a medium tan,
Later she'll block a womans hand trying to sneak a quick glance,
Up her dress the mother lands call her sweet lips in for a dance,
Her lips tight and hips ripe for the blossoming fruit to come tumbling down hill,
I sit there with my mouth open for the thunderstorm while everyone takes cover,
Her volcanic drips seeping slowly down the cracks of my lips,
I lick my tongue over and over the sweetness from her berries leave me in an apologetic disclosure,
No one was supposed to spread her glory thighs until whatever thirty day rule,
In that tiny black dress there was no stopping these tools the heavens blessed me with from ripping it to shreds,
A few clicks of my heels together under the table put me right at the crack of her ass,
I knew then there was no turning back...
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