No. You loathed his want instead. His drab wants:
dull and ulcerous. Cankered cock outside.
Cankerous soul in. — In the restaurant’s
restroom, in stall five, she ground down astride
your face ‘tween tribadic drubbing, violent
priapism, the long slow insertion —
“I’ll frig ‘er,” she said, slapping your splayed cunt.
“Put yer randiness ‘ere. Soon yer semen
an’ mah spit shaa slosh frae deep in ‘er arse.”
Blessed be all dirty minds, “keghtot mitk’y.”
Blessed be all grandmothers, daughters and wives
who find love once marriage becomes a farce,
once their menfolk bloat with hate and vodka.
Blessed be all love that still somehow survives.
A dirty mind, as Prince would say, is, “keghtot mitk’y” (կեղտոտ միտքը), in Armenian; as in, “dirty minded friends are so attractive,” “keghtot sirvats ynkernery aynk’an gravich’ yen” (կեղտոտ սիրված ընկերները այնքան գրավիչ են) … because we are and so are you.