Photo by Luca David on Unsplash

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

There’s a certain way I must write to you.

With M Powerment of six pistons, ten fingers I type to you.

I’ve been writing to you since my 328i Black Panther, driven like a foo’…

Breaking at the neck seeing your cousins go zoom…

I can’t wait to get inside of you and go vroom vroom!

Tell Hondas to move, MOVE!

Your leather I can feel soo smooth.

Gas, break, and dip to behoove—

…my need for speed because I once did the powdery things.

Staggering feet we can hit curves on repeat.

Don’t sleep on this driver you may piss your feet.

I’m coming for that M4—I wrote that back fourscore.

205 to 84 to see my mom and MLK’s Nike store.

Back Moving Waves my hair cut short and gave lust.

Black Making Wages my aura struck contagious.

Because Most Wait I take it now, no time to fuss.

Beware My Weight’s up—and still sexy at the gut.

By Means of Wordplay, can you tell I do this all day?

I ain’t shit. But a wishful hypocrite.

I’m done with this.

Good bye!

Kiss.

-Budd

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... "The words we speak become our vehicle; what you read is how I digest them.” -Budd

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