Cunt Blake

  1. When thou holdest my Skull against thy heavenly Wild Flower, I hold Infinity in my mouth and cheeks. Thy Robin Red breast cages my Hair, and I a harmless Ex-catholic boy, eating thy Doves & Pigeons, shudder til Hell thro’ all its Thousand Words puts a Kiss on each of thine eyes. Do not predict ruin, not with the State of thy Horse Nipples—a million and one times could I suck their Human blood. Each outcry of thy hunted Cunt, thy Asshole, excites my Ear; thou dost wail like a Lark wounded in the wing, my Cherubim. I plant a big wet long Kiss on thy Mouth, arm’d for fight; then does my Rising Sun fill thy Mouth, which is small, as far as Mouths from Hell go. My Human Soul, my wild deer, I bloody thy Cock with my Cunt. Thou carest about My Lamb and never hast it misus’d, which breeds a totally clich├ęd Heart thou easily dost open with thy big Knife. Thy Bat that flits at close of Eve hast my Heart; thy Balls slapping against me call upon the Night and speak the meaning of Dracula. STAKE ME. Sad is the Wren who shall never be belov’d by Man, the right Man like thee, so very easy with words, who comes to life when by the right Woman lov’d. My wanton Boy, move thy Pelvis up and down, torment my Chafer’s sprite. Now. Thy Arrow points at me like a Caterpillar on a Leaf. Repeat “thee thy them” while I swallow thee whole until the Last Judgment draweth nigh, until thou with thy Tongues passest the Polar Bar, thy Beggar’s Dog licking. I think I might pass out. Thy Fat Gnat sings to my Summer’s rose buds as thou fuckest me under the poison of the Snake & Newt, sweating squirrels, stones stuck to our Skin. Thought is the Artist’s Jealousy. Slam thy Prince’s Cock into me, lying here on my Miser’s Bags. A truth that’s told bad then rough can feel so good; right it should be so. Man was made for a pair of Cotton Bikini Panties, that thro’ the World he may safely go in Joy & Woe. In bed wearing nothing but these Panties, under every grief & pine runs a joy; I feel thy Cunt all the time under my Waistband and a damp spot appears on the front of my Hands. Every Farmer understands. To kiss thy Face and Mouth is to kiss Eternity. I’ve caught thee my Female, I’ve turned thee, my small one, and I’m putting it to thee, until thy Bleat, Bark, Bellow & Roar are waving in time. I drag thy Ass through the aspens, my Rod from beneath writing Revenge. I poke out and in thee in so many places, the Air shreds to Rags and the Heavens tear.