The Oyster’s view,
Wrenched from my oyster bed
With a dredge of clawing steel
I languish gasping on a linen lined crucible
Waiting for that lancet to cleave my deep crevasse
And sear my clasped pearl white hymen
She takes my slimymollusc being
Watches the white of my floating flesh
And with concealed revulsion, coquettishly
She slithers me down the vermilion tunnel of her gullet
And the acids pour and scorch every part of my being
She swallows; she smiles .Blows a kiss
To her lover in the gathered caucus
A pressing promise for the
tosses her hair
I look from without ; with withering and unscuperous eyes
an observers on the brink
I see her sculptured nails
She partied with the gilt edged caucus
She; a former oyster queen
Under the patrons tent
Throws back her head like a race horse after his win
And senses the deep success of her inssouciaant display of fellatio.
Down, devilish and all so daring.
And they take another bottle from the magnum
And spray the gathering in exuberant jubilation.
They pay the Jazz band ssome more
And some fool sings to the key of G -
and misses it . quite wildley and yet bodly
When I'm sixty four.
© Copyright 2016 donkylemore. All rights reserved.
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