after having slurped such oysters
and mawled such mole-****
mounds - perfected the steak tartar -
it's almost inconsistent with
the fact that i can:
         welcome some sort of civility
in this fragile medium of writing...
i dare say: notably prostitutes -
Puerto Rican, Bulgarian or Ukrainan...
i might as well have
  soaked my mouth in a sponge
dipped in olive oil -
              and to even think it possible,
having slobbered in these
regions to then pry open an
                 Augustine repentance -
and claim a god,
          having stretched
                      beyond imagination
the do of invited crude...
       to keep a pristine mouth in
both affairs seems contradictory -
     i dare say:
          no lesser creature is accounted
for, other than in pure jest:
          better cloaked...
                   i can only fathom performing
oral *** on a woman when
first, able, in appreciation
                    of the fruit of Poseidon -
nice, tacky, it's not a case of
poetic wording,
      what, if not the grit of
   a hog's snout rummaging in filth?
there is a deep seeded melancholy
in these words...
          i am rotating on an axis
of unredeemable consequence...
                man the tool use,
         woman the floral imbue -
god at best no socio-political ideal -
rather the same stuff of
                    "encrypted" rudiment;
if i concern myself with god
i concern myself as performing oral
*** on a woman, and her onomatopoeia
resounds deaf in the ears of god,
for my tongue in her... ahem...
is the sort of tongue in the skull
akin to the undifferentiated
         claim of animal:
  due to ****** man is no more
than a wolf's creed -
     talk of man is akin to a cat
purring - while a cat's meow is
man's ****** -
           all is well, gott ist taub.