The Rest Is Gravy
She’s perfect. Perfect! Quite a maid!
Charming, bright, and full of vigor.
But we all know what got her laid;
I had tits, but hers were bigger.
Something, A Miss
My charming prince is solid, staid,
As strong as any legion.
He’d fight for me, till the seas turn red,
Any villain in the region.
My stalwart love is heads above
Some simpering, wordy wussy.
Each kind embrace fits like a glove -
Why won’t he touch my pussy?
My love’s the living paragon
Of sweet romantic pleasure.
We talk and talk, and carry on,
Each new discourse a treasure.
He keeps up with my politics,
A brilliant young straight shooter.
He’ll touch upon the world’s affairs -
But he hasn’t touched my cooter.
I wish my love had stayed, alas,
To warm me by the fire.
My heart breaks now as hours pass;
I burn in my desire.
Between my bed and life at sea,
The choice he made was funny.
I just need dinner company -
I’ll touch my own damn cunny.
I Fold
Doubtless your eye had wandered before,
Before we met and before we parted.
Still shouldn’t I have had doubts all the more?
How stupid of me to be broken-hearted!
Why shouldn’t I have been wise to the signs?
Seeing the truth where my eyes returned nothing?
Distracted I was when you, playing kind,
Buttered my muffin.
You, with your tells, were with semaphore waving.
I, dealt my hand, exchanged all of my cards.
Obviously you were anteing, craving,
Honestly I took your guile as regards.
Perfumed were your words and airtight was your promise,
Card sharps like me should not fall for such bluffing.
Your words were all lies but your dick always, honest,
Buttered my muffin.
Dirge
The way we were became a tale
To caution would-be lovers.
A shroud, a veil, a pallid pall
Replaced our common covers.
Every ride down every street’s
A funeral procession.
An icy grip is every slip
Of your name as it’s mentioned.
The blackbirds in the garden
Sing a misérable chanson.
Oh how I miss the way my lips
Wrapped right around your johnson.
Same Old Story
Now you take me on your lap,
List your loves of past.
From my heart you miss the rap
As each beat is its last.
Go, regale me with the tales
Of every dame you’ve known.
But you should know that when you sail
I suck some other bone.
Tectonics
Unlikely though it seems to be
The very mountains move,
Creating deserts in between
Without a thing to prove.
Against all odds it’s commonplace
That continents divide,
Just like my legs reveal a twat,
Though this thing’s twice as wide.
Our Canvas Up There
Now the sun’s an absentee,
The firmament’s abandoned.
Hearts that dare to wander free
In darkness end up saddened.
I thought that love would never go
And took each day as given.
They said each day (but who’s to know?)
Will bring a brightened heaven.
At night no stars resume their place
To draw their constellations.
Where once they traced a lover’s face
They now forego their stations.
So now I scry the evening sky
And squint to find what’s lost.
My hopeful gaze, a pricey lie.
A broken heart, its cost.
As Michelangelo could use
A ceiling as a canvas,
So we our vault, in azure hues,
Bespoiled with our advances.
We might have left it all alone
And spared it this affront.
We hung a sky that none would own
So you could feel my cunt.
Ballade of an Unfortunate Rooster
As a genius denotes on a board with his chalk
The ways of the world, universally true,
Indisputably so as a key fits a lock,
As the pasture is green under skies that are blue,
As from nature we’ve scarcely deduced something new
Since neanderthals chipped living tools from the rock,
The logic is sound when a dame’s heard to coo,
“If you fuck my ass, you’ll get shit on your cock.”
As sure as an addict returns to his bock
When the lager is out and the cider is through
And the wine has been wasted and spilled on his smock,
The whiskey’s been quaffed and the gin is gone, too,
As drunken young men are more eager to woo
Just to wake a new person and take a new stock,
They’ll each have learned this as they tie on each shoe:
“If you fuck my ass, you’ll get shit on your cock.”
As each sailor’s mistress is left on the dock
As her paramour waves from the deck with his crew,
As her chest recites out her heart’s sobs with each knock,
As he takes to the sea what the sea can’t undo,
Never weep and don’t blush; retain your own hue.
He’ll scratch at the itch that’s in each of his pocks.
Recall the advice I’ve imparted to you:
“If he fucked your ass, he’s got shit on his cock.”
Cocoon
Protective as a fortress
All buttressed on its coast
And tempered by the shots that land from battleships that boast.
Within, as dark as midnight,
As if I’d closed my eyes,
A lifetime I could linger here as needful daylight dies.
Completely quiet inside,
As silent as the snow,
Save for the pitter-patter as I tiptoe to and fro.
Depression, o depression!
‘Tis thee, of thee I sing!
But also, now I think of it, this song’s for my va-jing.
Thinnest Silk
By now he’s cilmbed another hill
And seen another town.
By now he’s torn another silken gown.
Just yesterday I called on him
And came he straight away.
Alas, by now, I can’t recall that day.
They say a love is gossamer,
A see-through filament.
They’ve said with time it heals where it was rent.
By now he’s snapped some other threads,
And watched their sad hearts drown.
His loss, I say. He never would go down.
