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When you wrap thighs
around my head
And hug, or squeeze them round my bum,
Cramming my craw with a great spread
Of your astringent youthful come,
Or taking with your
glistening slot
(Just made for master keys) a nip
Out of my bud (that's all I've got,
But randy right from balls to tip),
Fucking or sucking,
there's a twist
You give your arse—and what a gift!—
That decent ladies have all missed:
By God, you've reason in that rift!
And when we kiss, your
tongue takes on
Such long and penetrating parts
So ardently that (shit!) it's gone
Straight down into my heart of hearts,
And your quim drains my
white liqueur
As a bear milks its mother's dug—
A cub well-licked, with such rich fur
My own rolls on it for a rug:
Licked into shape—my
tongue, old soak
And glutton, swears it's long lost count
Of hours spent playing, stroke by stroke,
The cough-sweet game beneath the Mount:
Well-licked, yes - bitter, though, and grim
That red laugh cut in your brown skin,
Your pretty, teasing, cheecky quim:
So like the lips of Harlequin.
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