I’m inclined to think that it’s he’s bonely, hung
The only ones with mauls like me.
But women can be men, though spends won’t wend their way and burst
From wurst-like phallustry.

Append! A schlong on Mary.
’cause what she wanted was a dick, not steamy trench of chick. . .
Got a new trick—it’s membery.
Once lady. . .man urge, gland merge, male and no more tail and tit ablation,
No more double B’s.

As a man, she has got a new bunch;
It’s a membie up, maleness meat—could be lunch.

A raising spire, lifting higher, erstwhile pie of chick—
Once dickless; now the dame’s unmade.
This is no masquerade! Displayed’s what’s made for strokes and pokes. . .
Playing no more the Mame charade.

A-men! A dong on Mary,
The dugs, she has set them both free; it’s set: a “he” reality—
Don’t care, she feels no shame.
Manned with an uncle strut that up can jut—that member cut—not her!
Filled, made her not the same.

You’ll attest that she’s sure got a hunk,
Though two testes chunks can’t make seed that’s got spunk.

After exploring a new mooring, lass’d had passed.
A tacked-on sprit is strung on like a spar.
Not gyn her karma, “guy”’s her dharma; gone
The spawning cleft; she’s hung with some rebar.

No hen. . .a schlong on Mary—
Done with that seam that was a bane, no dame remains, no need to feign.
That cleft, a site of yore.

The onetime luscious thighs bedecked like guys’
With hair you realize is not applied, sprung from the core.

It’s no nest like her fur-mounded hump—
Now that wenchie tup: babes that “he” shall then pump.

He shall then pump,
He shall then hump,
“She” shall be rump.*


*a small remnant or offshoot