“Item: she is curst.”/ “Well; the best
is, she hath no teeth to bite.”
— William Shakespeare

You bore with talk of what’s lewd. Can you milk
a cow and brew up frothy ale? “Item:
she has no teeth.” I am smooth; just like silk,
or fresh rot. “You care not” for my ruined gum,
black gape, my drained smile. “But we do love crusts.”
Scabs and pocks and sick that taste like nausea
are not rare treats for my friends, sodomists
from the bad side of town in Gomorrah.
“The Two Gentlemen of Verona:” act
III, scene 1, still hold some gut-turning shocks.
“I care not” how syphilis can attract
fresh love in an era of diseased cocks.
Only that you were born without wit, shame
or tact; the things you call “lewd” we call “lame.”