Cunt Dickinson

  1. When August burning low arise these spectral Sizes, I feel the Salt on your Grace. No Furrow on your Glow, yet your Druidic Cunt sings. You bustle in a House the Morning after Death, your Tits swinging in front of me, my Earth—sweep up my Heart and put it in your Cunt. Slobber all over my Cock until Eternity. Tell all the Truth but tell it like the Earth hatching. I suck you from infirm to Delight, the Truth’s superb Sun spreading over our Island. I leave your Cunt with explanations—be kind. The Truth must dazzle your Tongue, hang limp from your preached upon “Breadth” till it argues me to touch your Nipples to my Eyes. We shall embrace “Truth” until it proclaims me a Liar—and my Ass and Mouth and every other Simplicity flees from this counterfeit presence as often as possible. I want you to come. Confusion covers the innocent Jesus with my Clit—lick Him back into yourself. I want you to last till the Drums have left the Dead alone, to stick your Cock in every Hole and Indentation. Chastened, I steal along to where you finished—I stick your Cock inside my Mouth until my Eyes hate Glory. I wish myself in your Mouth, your Lips on my Tits—the tip of your Cock also could prospect. You taste of Retrospect—lay your Tongue under mine. When you place your Lips next to my Heart, my Diviner is transitive toward—with my Bayonet Cock I fuck you. You understand Depravity, my Spider Artist—I’ve never before been employed like this. We leave our wet towels behind, certified by every Broom and Bridge. I’m never sure how you’re moving it—what Genius—I take thee by the Hand, the one that helped me come, the one that made the Street stand still—Eclipse—we suck for a long time, mouthing all we could feel. By and by—my boldest Suck on your Nipples makes me a Giant there, as if Nature were in a Opal Apron, mixing Lips. You take care of me, win me a Revolving Wheel—a Resonance of Hands are tied together and flare up into Blossoms on your Bush, adjusting its tumbled Fireplace. Your Ass like the first easy Morning’s Ride—at first smells a bit pungent, like chocolate covered Imperceptibles made to seem like Perfidy. Your Belly is a closed Eye, sleeping—your Breath, like Nature spending herself, sounds so beautiful. Your Cock cocooned earlier in the Morning foreign shone—your Cock likes my Mouth, a Guest that would ne’re be gone—and thus, tonguing your Cock, Summer makes her light escape into Beauty.