Apr 162012

When the tongue darts tart to the aspic place
Ranging round the brown aromaed hole
Seeking solace between fundament and face,
By licks outlining the awkward tale of souls,
I know myself a slave of lust, and lave
The merry mistress of my cock with praise
No higher than my lust himself does rise
To be a sunk spelunker in your caves.
Round and round we go, and soul to soul
We play bandit and the badman night and day
Stealing happiness from the world’s decay
Whose carnival commands us stand in sadder roles.
Through the work week, daybreak to dusk,
I dream of our theater, the husk of your musk.

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