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Styles May 2020
Whisper some ***** **** in her ear, watching wet spot in her ******* appear, sticking my hand down there,
where my fingers dissapear underneath your underwear,
deep beneath
my fingers disappear
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess
Boy, you’ve been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down

                                                           ­                    John Lennon

A carnal muse and fallen sprite
I’ll paint for you, in flattering light.
My model’s sensuality
Shall trump all dull reality;
Inspired by Womankind’s raw truth,
Life-drawing class heats up, uncouth.
Still, I am sure some stiff-necked *****
Shall smear my heartfelt lay as lewd.

Edenic exile sought by men,
Receive this tribute from my pen
And keyboard, played inexpertly
By one who knows you rapturously
As a muse of Aztec/Latin race
Prodigious in your works and grace:

Born Ruth Ayon, in God-Knows-Where,
She overwhelms in underwear—
And shedding that, turns good men bad,
Makes angels fall and gods go mad.
Los Angeles (and that’s the joke)
Is where this cherub went for broke
Cashing in her soul for action,
Soreness, ***** and tumefaction.

Laurie Vargas, mouth full of ***,
Spread for us now your Aztec ***
Your sultry contours hypnotize;
The laughter in your ******* eyes
Brings music from Tenochtitlán
And opens windows to Aztlán
You smile, unlike those other *****
Who merely grimace. Gringa butts
Are less audacious than your own . . .
Their charms are better left unknown.
Your cheeks in tan proportion shine
Embodying some rare truth divine.
(Through Poetry, I’ll make them mine.)

I must speak forth of what I found—
Though standing on unholy ground,
Here I behold your lively art . . .
Your unpierced flesh has lanced my heart.
Whereas most stars are tattooed, jaded
Your bright aspect shines, unfaded.
Clad in campesina thread
While moaning on your torrid bed,
Adorned in homespun broidered blouse
In some vaquero‘s rancho-house
Or naked as Mexica dawn,
Bespattered like a dewdropped lawn,
Spurting with some panting plumber
In an endless *****-summer,
You glow, like honey dipped in light
And undulating Latin night.
Your burning bush, much-trafficked place,
Recalls the Red Sea’s parted space
No less than your beatific face.

An unrepentant Magdalene,
You plunge into each graphic scene.
Madonna of the varied act
You swell, engorge, dilate, contract
And play the part with crazy wit
Suckling madly at your own ***.
The way you can accommodate
What barely seems to satiate
With pure abandon, leaves us awed,
As mesmerized, your name we laud,
(With one hand—harder to applaud !)

Will you survive to have regrets
When raw desire no longer gets
Your body hot with inner flame?
When *** has ceased to call your name?
I wonder if you’ve found such paths
Of flesh and pimping sociopaths
A route to riches, gain, and pleasure
Or mere sacking of your treasure.
At the end of your sweaty day,
Is there more than a harlot’s pay?

I wish you well—and hope in time,
When life has left you less sublime,
You’ll find your way to God through Christ
And learn of what was sacrificed
To free you from your sordid fame
Where sinners hail your glorious shame.
Laurie Vargas was born in 1983
in Los Angeles, California, as Ruth Ayon.
(Some sources indicate Guadalajara Mexico as her birthplace)

Visit her terrible glory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6pyZ0rGfnM
Styles Feb 2020
Roses can be read
Violets can be too
you give me head
and I will go down on you
or we can switch it up instead
and we can do what lovers love to do
series 2:3
Styles Feb 2020
Roses are red
Violets are blue
people come and go
but, if I came
I would *** inside of you
Series 1:3
Mark Oct 2019
"Who ****** Marsha Brady?" "I," said the Sparrow
"With my bow and arrow, I ****** Marsha Brady"
"Who saw him ****?" "I," said the Fly
"With my little eye, I saw him ****"
"Who caught his ***?" "I," said the Fish
"With my little dish, I caught his ***"
"Who'll make the movie?" "I", said the Beetle
"With my thread and needle, I'll make the movie"
"Who'll make his advert?" "I," said the Owl
"With my pick and shovel, I'll make his advert"
"Who'll be the screenwriter?" "I," said the Rook
"With my little book, I'll be the screenwriter"
"Who'll be the cameraman?" "I," said the Lark
"If it's not in the dark, I'll be the cameraman"
"Who'll carry the camera?" "I," said the Linnet
"I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the camera"
"Who'll be chief editor?" "I," said the Dove
"I **** for my love, I'll be chief editor."
"Who'll carry the actors?" "I," said the Kite
"If it's not through the night, I'll carry the actors"
"Who'll bare it all? "We," said the Wren
"Both the **** and the hen, we'll bare it all."
"Who'll sing a song?" "I," said the Thrush
"As she ate on a mush, I'll sing a song"
"Who'll make him ***?" "I," said the bull
"Because I can pull, I'll make him ***"
All the crew of the film, fell a-sighing and a-sobbing
When they witnessed the ******* yell, from poor Marsha Brady.
Mark Sep 2019
Hello
And it’s over
Goodnight folks
Come again.


PS: It didn’t take you that long either to come to this poem......
NM Aug 2019
All that money, and yet, still so cheap.
Based upon deep pain and resentment I have had forever regarding being cheated on and compared to *******/cam models.
.
.
Sad how loyalty is nothing but a casual game now and people only want/look for "temporary bliss"...but to each their own I suppose.
Luvanna Jun 2019
Lift me up
Place me onto your desk facing the newly rising sun
let the sun kiss our curves and edges unknown to the lights
I'm fresh and clean from the shower
ready to get *****
study me, as if I'm the map you always possess
**** me rough
the neighbours could care less about us
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