Le Petite Mort

One last lunge this fuck is done,
Slap his arse as I roll off,
No time to give this waste a space the old reach around,
Heard those posh twats in France call this the little death,
Well I know one thing this stupid git is dying soon,
With all the stuff that runs in 'is blood,
Just as well I fucked suited up before I went into this boy cunt,
Got to stop doin this crap anyway,
Gotta get some pussy,
Rap up warm in the glow of heteronormativity,
Instead of all this fagging about with fucking poofs I meet in toilets,
Or not...

Vinegar Scented Breasts

I want to bury my face in your vinegar scented breasts

I want my animalistic lust to wash over me like a horny tsunami 

My gland between your glands pushed together with my hands

Wave after wave until the volcano erupts

And creamy lava plasters you

This bedroom is Pompeii and you'll be preserved forever in a cast of love

If these walls could speak, then they'd be screaming in voyeristic ecstasy

I am your Da Vinci, you are my Moany Lisa and the masterful strokes of my eight inch brush are painting you a creamy white

You gasp with delight

All through the night

Fanciest flight

Our love is a sight 

for greedy eyes to see

You climb the summit and your ladies hair flow down like camomile rivers

Thrusts and thumps, and your thunderous groans echo until the earthquake splits the bed in half

I sink like a rock and drown in the river of passion that flows out of you

Oh, how I want to bury my face in your vinegar scented breasts

September is the cruelest month.

This poem will be rather blunt:
I want to see your lovely cunt.
My fist inside your hole of joy,
I want to be your Christmas toy.

Please, don't think that I'm a tranny,
Believe me that I want your fanny.
To penetrate you with my sword
And leave you gasping: "oh, my word".

Roses are red but can be pink,
I'd even do you in the stink.
Me and you, it's meant to be
With you on top and riding me.