INAPROPRIATE DOUBLE A-SIDE.
GUN JAM
An assassin surgeon, nodding off, totting up perspectives;
A prominent witchdoctor, point plotting apprehensive invectives.
Codenamed for reasons of secrecy,
A procedure necessitating audacious promiscuity.
In broad daylight, they have fatally mounted a massive manhunt;
This game of tears must end badly -
It is written.
Defending armour plated hayloft hairpins is not as much fun as it sounds.
At over one hundred miles per hour, It’s practically impossible to hear the pussy purring
Under the hood, let alone the door-wolf clawing.
Anal penetration is an open-top Mercedes hot hatch:
Making sex sounds with fat mouths,
Slowed to a round
About O.
A broad armband, a landmine buried in the snaking breadths
Of a dead-end autobahn – Wired to explode like a clusterfuck:
A Booby-trapped chicane and other, less obvious hazards
Await the space invader as he advances East.
Armed with a sub-machine gun
Herr Trigger Finger scores lesions and pokes fun and
Gun jam inside, it went off, half-cocked in her mouth.
Termination and a drawn pistol, poorly drafted in her belly:
Delineating brains and broken body parts.
O ffal.
Inflamed extremities coil at the purpling edges:
Septicaemia and Gangrene spread legs because of the shrapnel.
An Undercoat of upholstery, with ribbons and gold leaf crisps
Prevent a nation of lazy slaves from taking it lying down.
To flood the crypt an unorthodox priest uses his lanky digits.
Inside the grey wooden hut, she prays wet affect as a fever;
The fingering Father pries and pokes more fuck inside.
A colossal state of muddle and mire;
The muck of bare footed coitus bleeds clay
And Ancestral slurry gutters away
Bloodlines.
VAGINOPLASTICITY
Let’s Torque about sex: my complex?
I suspect it’s a polyp posing as an olive;
It floats incognito upon the oily surface
Of her Cuban highball Mojito –
Add a dash of Worcester sauce:
A splash of kick-smashing puck,
A pick of cruel remorse.
Piping hot battery acid hard-bites my sex toy leakage.
A steady rinsing of the urethra duct, pimping totty wreckage;
The Thrombotic lump dissipates under the weight of
An emery board application:
Treating beauty with an industrial file -
Total fakery, blanket bombing saturation.
I wash her mouth out with
it reeking.
I hate it when she acts up –
attention seeking!
I question if I should do these things to her.
Is she stable enough to endure my adoration?
I guess
I made her this way:
A suffering drone-bitch application.
Forged from paramours past
And dead pets –
I hold her parts dear,
Close to my chest, my unhinged heart,
Venus trapping Margarine, Flaying flies:
Wringing out Nasty pests and sticky cream.
Reclaimed white goods fusion, appliance amalgam,
Enamel spray paint and salvaged sex-doll slices provide a fine finish glue gun.
Manifest, the animatronic void,
This Juliet figurine, envisioned as a homemade droid.
Realistic to a teenth, down to a balloon tubed haemorrhoid.
She is anatomically and politcally incorrect,
Even the secretion of Bartholin's Glans is replicated,
By way of a pneumatic hose piping wax,
Lard and mammary envy exaggerated.
Actual beef curtains part to expose
A literal button under her clothes.
To push and pull, tweak and pickle
Fiddle and flick, excite a leak
Followed by a thrilling reflex trickle.
But these aspects are superfluous features;
Unnecessary extras for effect.
I had primed her project to embrace romance,
To take the soak of my lavish affection dance;
To Cuddle and kiss, canoodle close and be
A Smooch-speak life-line,
Tracing my epitome.
But this is not enough for my Pink Magnolia dog.
She wants to go, 'all the way' – the whole hog.
I detect lust in her wash drum
fuck-me-eyes,
They rotate, owl like contrawise
And her microwave mouth nukes my tongue when we kiss.
Her sulky cunny is an only child – spoilt and greedy.
MonoVage:
A speaker, sub woofing lyrics, spitting needy.
Every pricked perforation is a mouth.
One hundred eye-mouths blaring a bOOm!BoX plead–
Privately serenading a soliloquy zap*py as I feed
Back across spit roasted airwaves, blowing hot and cold,
An alarming oration on a solitary rollercoaster looping spasmic gold;
Bloody Mary: he abstracted my Gash.
My slit is a shotgun suicide.
Bloody Mary: he abstracted my Gash.
My slit is a shotgun suicide.
A sexy sermon indeed,
lusty and gutsy –
She has spunk,
I’ll give her that!
But I cannot bare the singularity of a one track mind beseeching
A repeater twat.
I wash each of her mini-mouths out with an antiseptic cotton bud:
One last time, swabbing the foul thud.
She does not turn me on,
So I lift open her eye patch flap
And pull the plug where Pink used to be,
Putting her down:
Periodically.
Despite replicating Venus
I conclude with heinous misogyny
Is it then,
my responsibility?
That despite my love, served intravenously,
All she coveted
Was my Monstrosity-
My Synthetic penis
Drip fed.
