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Poem	A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece, Diminutive, but room enough . . like clay To finger eager on some torrid day . . Who'd throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease. Never, not once in all one's horny lease To'have had a demi-lay, a pretty, gay, Snug, slim and supple-breasted girl for play . . She bats her big, warm eyes, and slides like grease. And cuff her silly-hot again, mouth hot And wet her small round writhing—but this screams Suddenly awake, unreal as alkahest, My god, this isn't what I want!—You tot The harrow-days you hold me to, black dreams, The dirty water to get off my chest.
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