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“Husband Hungry”

Tick-tock.

By the look of your wrist,

I can tell you can't hear my biological clock.

See, I'm hungry. Got this pure satiation for the mere implication

to walk down that aisle and give off a smirk to those un-wed bitches

to the pimps that drove them wild. shit, as I can recall-nothing is for free.

you lubed my udders and now you want to milk by caressing me?

tick-tock.

talk is cheap. I need you to do that Beyonce remix

put a ring on it and let me see that last name entitlement which I crave so

hungrily.


 

Shit. You move too slow. Molasses In your ass and

got the wit of Elmer Fudd & Mr. Magoo thinking that I give up the

vah-jay-jay for free and then want to chill on my couch and pucker up

running up my damn electricity. Don't you know that I got hoes

in different area codes, niggas that want to have just a whiff of this

just to smell the pure delicateness of the booming inner thighs that

have those childbearing hips and once again, I come to my

biological clock that you don't watch as it goes tick….

tock. you gotta love that clock. I looked up and years have passed. What my

grandmother calls wasted years and wasted tears that don't really say what was so

unclear as to why you are scared of holy matrimony, petrified of any words that start with "m"

and declare that you'd rather just be lonely. You must don't know…I'm husband hungry.


 

I need that white dress. Be that Godzilla with a relationship always on the test

because no foundation lied unless you refer to bricks that my man puts down

because baby, he throws the pipe. You must don't know. I already got my reception picked out

location, time and theme-and damn sure gonna demand ever single present on my

Macy's registry. You must don't know. I don't care about a relationship,

I want that 10 year deal; the kind where I can get massive benefits and then kick

your ass to the curb with the quickness. You must don't understand-

I'm husband hungry. See…all of my girls' bragging with their 2 carats raised in the air

I want to be part of that club-preferably with a near millionaire

and if he tries to pull out that pre-nuptial shit make sure that I whip out

deep throated sexual thickness that I know will lay down that pen to fix it.

I am the one. The husband hungry one. My desire lies in two weeks of dating

One night of fucking and one day followed by morning breakfast. You better get with it.

You move to slow. I just want to walk down the aisle in all white…

Hmmm….If I'm married, I can't be that hoe.

-b.r.rivera

#30in30

1of30

http://writerswrite.ning.com

http://beverlyrivera.blogspot.com


 

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