Poon thoughts extend men’s’ timber—
wood simmer down?! Gorged member.
Up grew chode, shtup prong, fur reamer,
tube-like viper for a hon’.

And you call it “apogee”—
find the sky with trembling spur splayed,
long to touch the distaff breaches
’cause males love, crave lewd missies.
Mounds get naked peers. . .fur torquer’s
rise to plying she-please lingam.
Forge in darkling cave, the balling slough
to slip past tight-place lips.

In you steer to girl’s mound, roddy,
lancing through obscure moss.
Near-a-foot splint slakes the hollow. . .
hairy pie pumping spree.
And when your digger finds her,
enmounded is your knobby.
Arms seek knead-two nipples. . .
resin issue from the pine.

The briny berth all squishy
from gapping with your fingers,
and you long to slake her tissues,
move a hard stand of the timber.

Her fame ain’t Sappho-dikey
and she writhes on crimson swell.
And your bone is sure to cleave her
as you tup in distaff land.
’cause males love, crave lewd missies—
mounds get make-it spear. . .spur forger,
cries of “I’ve spent!” in ears ringing.

The tight-seam berth all squishy
from sapping of the lingam—
manhood prong has slaked her tissues. . .
once a hard man. . .shrunk, you’re limber.

[fade on Ben Wa-Wa pedal]