Men I think—had always thought—the only ones who’re bonely.
I’m appalled—here’s she,
A trenchant wench devoid of trench, the kind that gynos search
And, thirsting, lurch to see.

Append! A dong on Annie,
Whom we had vaunted as a chick. . .a rubicund-head dick
Now out does stick, a men’s wee-wee.
A lady?! Bratwurst, fat wurst, pale*, province of males for stimulation—
Toll is 10 CC.

And I fret ’cause I’ve sure got a hunch
There’s a testes cup for a seed-blasting bunch.

Negates desire, quells the fire, does this kind of chick
With thickness that dames don’t display.
Is this a masquerade, charade that’s played, a poker joke
Or a true post. . .she framed this way?

A-men! A dong on Scary,
A thrusting truss that’s swingin’ free, in front of me, he-gal is she.
I think it’s not a game!
I once would snuggle, touch her knoll, now a suspended crutch on her.
What of that slot became?

You’ll attest that she’s sure got a hunk
And two testes chunks that make seed that’s got spunk.

[“flute” solo]

She’s got the mooring for a bore thing that’s not flat;
When flaccid. . .digit-flung, becomes a spar.
With scything dharma, like a farmer’ prong
That’s long, licks like a tongue that lunges. . .wheat-mars.

Ahem! A dong on Annie.
I long to hear someone explain the dress with train, in fact a twain—
One back and one to fore:
In front, the snake of guys, inflect that pries and shakes the sweetest pies
Between the thighs, a tight’ning core.

Wench with testes can sure be avunc-
ular, when she’s upraised, near breach for the dunk.

Breach for the dunk
Breeched for the dunk.
She’s forged for dunk!!


*stake