@ what you got from it

@ what you got from it

Touch me where color cant put paint on crowns to be racist
Where sounds are desperate for pleasure to exhale the Spirit.
What agreement said we was ready when our eyes spoke first when our hands started to search
Our lips started to dance .
Rubbing became romantic play
We found love to be lust were trusting our flesh became feelings to disobey God.
Leaving our choices a statement
that's bigger then our mistakes.
Why do we continue to separate our self from him?
When he never said sex love but make love , why is the only time we can get along is when we are sinning .
By Fredrick Pennix Aka Praiser The Poet The Show;Off Worshiper
©prodigious