Tag: sex

The Penis Elegies: The Sixth Elegy

Rest it upon my shoulder for my conscience is missing
Let it crawl from the depths of hell to the roof of my mouth
Breathe it down into my lungs so I may know new life
So this wellspring of carnal knowledge may be imbibed 
For unsentimental education is the most important thing
Not false prophets or paltry illusions we give these bedroom pedestrians.

The cock is a symbol of liberating iconography
It is the flag which I will wave proudly
With framed posters hanging from my bedroom walls.

The cock touches my tainted soul
It transcends simple sins
Lingering like the fondest of mischievous memories.

The cock is a wonder 
Full of suck ever-extending bliss
Something truly glorious to behold.

Our bodies will be a battlefield
The only death being La Petit mort. 

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The Penis Elegies: The Third Elegy

This dripping tends to leave me with a tendency
Filled with hopeful histrionics that make sense of nothing.

A pearl-white necklace worth little more than spit or piss
Covers my face with a glaze of broken desire.

Disappointment washes over me more than I can bear
When you fuck me like you care.
Like I’m some sort of virgin school girl.
Like I’m some sort of innocent lamb.
Like I’m some sort of Disney princess.

I need you more when you disgrace me
With affection that resembles a heart
Shaped like a loaded pistol.

The Penis Elegies: The Second Elegy

I saw you struggle to contain it
Within the seams of your dirty jeans. 
This was the charming of the snake.

I saw you struggle to tame it
My ass was both carrot and stick.
This was the breeding of the horse.

I saw you struggle to explain it
As your seed exploded past my face.
This was the flapping of the dove.

The Penis Elegies: The First Elegy

Your phallus, 
So stout in its erectness,
A statue of greatness,
Plants a warmth inside my lower depths.

Your shaft,
A willing member of our union,
Free of scruples and neurosis,
Acts on the purest animal lust, not love.

Your meat,
Too proud in its prime, 
Stands free, above all other meagre offerings,
Takes what it wants without hesitation.

The Art of Cruising

An affliction of affection that society scorns
Our litany of love that no others can prescribe to
A cloak of shame that hides our sordid faces
Dirty bushes, dark corners and dutiful wives
Say farewell to this farce, yet greet me again.