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Renée Estella.
Sweating with a bath running
slices off juice in gripping hilt
it's imagination’s cross-width
rites lined in their index neat
the skyline, each in whistling
tuning, remitting no rear hint
Pomp for her denture
her elevated inch clutch
her syllabic shawl spurred
what fettered dibs rumptious
looks in a moving wick of rush
The devil takes on the shapeshifter
spectators’ gazes take their seats
on a lady whose mask you’ll see
evokes cunning masculinity wit
behind heavier bars of nothing
at the river of her face—a tree
she's emotion, its community
clearly, devil's lemon appeal
all that is artless in intuiting
so it's joy bridging her river
A gentle glide brought me these poems, from a personal note of Renée Estella’s semblance to Khloé Kardashian. Renée's got great lips, hips, and cheeks, and on her birthday, I made my birthday pens squeak. So I'm writing poetry again next year if you're still as pretty. It's impossible to go wrong with Khloé Kardashian’s eyes and lips.
Thank you to my team, my manager, Julieanna Marie Goddard-YesJulz, Abigail Bergstrom, Charly Cox, everyone making me look good out here, and securing me in friendships. You're loved. Thank you to all the readers.
