fusty luggs

20 Saturday Oct 2018

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To hunt for your cunt. To follow your spine
to the shrine of your ass wrapped in knickers.

Depraved. Shaved lips stretch as you recline,
draping heels around my neck. Worshipers

revere their sacred but I just cock-spank
your clit and call it prayer. To soil, defile

first one worships. The soul of all Love’s rank
and vile run riot in me. Will you smile

each time I sheathe myself in your behind?
Pull out to push in, again. Oui, chéri,

your son shall seethe when he sees me buried
balls deep. Call this position, “Gods Enshrined.”

My faith lies in all that’s pervy, curvy,
fusty luggs. Gods phat with children, married.

][][

Note:
“Fusty luggs,” much like, “Venus Observa Feminae,” is an archaic term for tribadism.

nerdy and curvy

23 Monday Dec 2013

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Was it the “jinkies”? Maybe the glasses?
The knee-high socks? The skirt that never once

flipped up despite all the haunted houses
that she explored? There was an innocence

each time she ended up on hands and knees,
searching for her glasses and the campy,

rubber monster would appear. She would squeeze
its hand: “Shaggy! you’re so cold and clammy!”

Velma Dinkley, out of all the sublime
cartoon girls, was the one I could relate

to. Short, plump, maybe bi with dreadful eyes,
she was nerdy and curvy at a time

when no one was; with her orange jailbait
turtleneck, Mary Janes and chubby thighs.