One, two, three, angled
Toes, fingers, teeth, mangled
"We WiLl bE fReE tO FiNaLlY sEe!"
The stomach's foot wriggles with glee
Amalgamation is the only way
Our Smith knows and begins to pray
No warning mouthed before the clasp
Gluttonous gloop scoops the foot in a grasp
Triple digits move swiftly and quick
The Stars lucky they are not here to see sick
Lashings, fingerings, scars and rot
Devoured by a trap the other sought
"HoW cOuLd YoU? wE WeRe pRoMiSed fuel...?"
The question dwindles, quiet and cruel
As our Smith digests, then takes a rest
And soon hears, newly, a crackling crest
Further over into the dark
We who have eyes see it stark
A fierce Furnace, the Fire's Cot
Where many Names are burned and forgot.
Dear John the Beloved,
spread me; your gospel
and be baptized in my Jordan...
let your tongue speak diverse kisses to my lips
as you read and flip through the heavy breasted pages of Psalms
simmering slowly down the breadth of my nude hips
with tickling fingerings, way down to Jordan,
where I'd baptize you - my convert;
in streams of cums and echoes of holy moans
as you pray open my liquid pool that drowns you
with the thrusting of the sceptre
between your Pillar which is the master key.
and me?
I lie, beneath your Depth; a quivering flesh
suspended from reed fragile bone
to be revived by the Prophet.
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