Miami – Miami, I love you.

City of breasts
I love your honey colored women.
So ripe,
covered in thin cotton that
clings to damp skin.

Oh latina,
pretty mother,
leaning over a stroller
not a wicked thought in your head,
I so want to reach out
and reverently cup the warm apples
of your breasts.

Your succulent youth
and vitality makes my head swim.

I think of your golden
thigh pressed to my cheek.
I long to slide my thumbs down the
seam of your body
juices running to my wrist,
sweet papaya taste.

My mouth waters
as you walk away
and my palms itch for the feel of your swaying hips.