O glorious cavern wrought with pinkish mystery,
Thou, whose puck’ring lips I have dreamt about,
Are the sacred altar of Sodom’s progeny .
How thy sweet effluence is set to rout
When that fearsome beast of mine doth attack
And rend thy cave apart with its purple snout!
Venus’s temple on its hirsute mound
Seems paltry when likened to thy glory.
For to thou alone I am always bound.
It is exclusively in thy quarry
That I seek my precious stones of ordure,
Be they glist’ning moist or dark and hoary.
I shall gulp down thy mellifluous excrement
And wed my soul to its celestial scent!
Copyright © Tim Sacks | Year Posted 2014
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