Strained neck.
Belly full of ***.
With a pat on my ***,
you roll over and fall asleep.

*******.

O, to be in dear Petronella
Now that Spring is here!
But alas, poor lass, she is no more,
Bereft of life, dead and gone,
Breathing through the grass,
O woe, O woe are we,
The fat ****'s snuffed it.

No more will I and my friends
Ardent admirers all
(by the rancid cartload),
Feel her horrid toothless gums
Slurp their lascivious path of glory
Across our bloated obesities,
******* and slobbering,
Muttering sweetest nothings
Through mangled, matted pubics.

No more shall we feel her body
Groaning under every butch ******,
Uttering imprecations of desire.
However one consolation is ours:
We who remain behind on earth
Can have undisputed use of the giant *******
And will no longer need to cleanse it
Following Petronella's awful misuse thereof.

These horrid thoughts came to me
As in a terrible, foetid nightmare;
And I dreamed I saw Petronella's grave
Bedecked with flowers and phlegm;
And the holy angels sang overhead,
"It's an ill wind that blows
Out of the back passage
Once it's been ****** good and hard".

come on darling take a chance with us
our meat is on the seams of a blue-blooded funeral
a **** body burial, and the volcanoes laugh

the thumbs shake
as the fingers dance
makes the rain pull its roots on
for the showcase the generic plants
will perform a feral routine

every **** a command-stop forwarded
the nucleus inside of a vitrified half-assed colon
and if they shiver they will find their saw
tailored to the head of that aurulent god

a caterpillar reads the braille and follows my wrist
he condescends, and breaks notions causing new alarm
they are all special, green feet and orange sinewy lines
he casts his blame he curses across the myriad storms

gold minarets in the distance
serpents living under man-made rocks
counting down the seconds on armageddon's clock

a lion counts his livestock
he puts his socks on, he wears a headdress
in the shape of a flame

just outside the shadows of an autumn day

Who's master do you serve?
Asked the mistress to Mr longnhard
I serve
Master Bation,
Replied Mr longnhard
The mistress replied back
'Do you have any idea how I get ahold of this master Bation?
Mr longnhard replied'
You can get ahold of him you just need one or two finger's
To reach out to him!

Objectify
Subjectify
Bite my neck
Warm my body with yours
This isn't the birds and bees
This is crows and wasps
She wants me to pull her hair
Arch your back
Let the shiver crawl up your spine
Open your eyes
Put your nails in my back
Make me bleed
Make me bleed
Kiss me recklessly
****** pump
Put her on the wal just like she likes
**** the breast
Feel the heat
Bite the ****** till her feet curl
You don't even know the things I would do
Convince me it's wrong just at the right time
Tame the beast
Let him free
Bring me back
Take control
Leave your marks
Tattoo my back
Blood scabs and nails
Those aren't bruises
That's me mark
Don't forget
The scream you had
The moan in the corner
Choke me
Choke her grasp your Hands
Don't run away
Every single mark you make
Isn't love
It a just rough
The blood you drew and the marks I mad
The anger and delight the relief that pleasures me
And to you
We take it down
Till we both fall apart
And in the morning
Let it rain
Don't let the bee's buzz
And the birds chirp
I want to you to wake with a sore throat
And I a sore back
Sing to me
Your raspy screams
Because I prefer wasps and crows
then the birds and bee's

This bold mahogany dawn never retires
Buckets of roses unfold along the slopes of this graphite mountain
Smoke stirs from the cave wall paintings
Where wild horses lead the feral battles of yesterday

The most vulnerable humans could ever be is now
With four eyes and four arms open.
She might be as wet as a blonde Swedish shark- no matter.

The best and worst of life comes from the sacred triangle

Consumed by a life
    She couldn't handle anymore
          Ashamed by desires
       Too desperate to score
               It's just too addicting
   She wants nothing more
Watching everything she loves
            Walk out the door
    Finds money where she can
         But still living life poor
          Too smart to get too involved
     And too dumb to ignore it
             She don't even care
      They all call her a *****
Now thinking, as she sees the knife
           This isn't what she prepared for
    But with a little thought, she knows  
It's what she's always had in store
              As she lays, bleeding out
     On her ****** kitchen floor

'Cause ***** words
                    nasty and ****** words
                                                 are the cleanest of expressions.
        
                 For they have the ingredient of naked truth.

Ah! 'twas so many moon ago
When I met young(ish) Diana
- Known as ***** Di to her friends
Because of her willingness
To gaily **** almost anyone
Provided he was well-hung and sweet-smelling.

Ah! Delightful Bracknell New Town,
Dormitory zone par excellence,
And home to dear little ***** Di,
A paradise where I fully intended
To sleep with her (and much more)
On our very first romantic date.

I felt a bit of slight extravagance
Would ensure a good bunk-up
So I checked out the GFG
For a reasonably priced
Candle-lit Italian restaurant
Within a 10 miles radius.

After a rather tasty nosh-up
We repaired to her proletarian home,
The very first time yours truly
Had ever been in a Council flat,
(and I was a bit anxious about
leaving my Audi A6 Turbo in the street).

As we headed for the bedroom
She asked me conspiratorily
To keep my ******* voice down
As her eleven year old ******* son
Was hopefully fast asleep, doped up
On a generous dose of paracetemol.

O how lustily we two copulated!
Indeed more than merely that;
How I took full advantage of
Her other delightful apertures;
One could safely say that
No holes were barred that night.

We were just in the middle of
Session numero quatro
Involving a vigorous *******
Bit of backdoor love-action,
When the bedroom door opened
And in walked little Reginald.

He said naught but only gaped
To see Mummy in flagrante delicto
(mercifully we were in the good old days
before mobile phones and iPads,
or else our ***** coupling
would have made the rounds of Year 5).

Oft times have I wisely considered
What impression that visual treat
Might have made upon his growing mind:
Was he emotionally scarred to find
His dear Mama was a total slapper
Who liked a bit of uninhibited botty-fun?

I doubt it - but I shall ne'er forget his cry,
So revealing was it of the mores
Of the aspiring lower classes:
*"For Christ's sake who's banging your fat **** this time, Mum,
Can't you keep the noise down, for once?
I've got ******* school in the morning."