gay

The English vice,

Some Etonian curse –

Set down in grass

And purple verse,

Lavatory bred

With ransacked blood,

Skin slapping and

With a falling thud –

Takes boys at childhood,

Wishes them away,

With promises of popper fuelled buffets,

And poisons them with

Vice and virus red,

And sees them unmarried

Giving head.

I don’t regret a single thing I am,

I’ve tried it out

And can’t abide the sham –

I’ll **** men

And make them beg for more,

I’ll scrabble for their love upon the floor,

I’ll love men

And love will love me too,

I’ll love for love’s own sake

And when I’m through

I’ll die and I’ll be thankful that your hate

Never made me beg that I was straight.

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