Motion Black

Moving like the mamba slick and graceful whenever brushed.
Embraces the fingers with sensual ease whenever teased.
Relaxes with no effort on the neck, back and shoulders
and cut pleasing to the ends without that awful splitting.
Hides sudden tears as it can with it's canopy.Shiny as the
night whenever passions burn.Regal in it's strand whether
adorned or not.There's an illusion of cold but hot even in
December.Wild and alluring when it's wet, a bighearted man
is sure to remember.It's the hair of Monica I call the
Motion Black.

poem by William Blackman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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