Alchemisland

It wasn’t just boys in blue on the knocker

Upstairs balls weren’t blue, boots were knocking

I was squeezing knockers, what Brits call boobs

Clock nearing eleven, tube that held the boobs askew on the floor 

Her leather boots looked elven, no books on the bedside locker

Ballygowan water bottle plus 3,000 bobbins, bopping to the Melvins

She’s getting a knobbing like it’s my could be job hobby

It’s plunder time and I’m robbing

Worry decreasing like a picture getting cropped

Who needs being taller when you love your job this much

Do it so well that after we fist bump

Fist slippy with gunge from her clunge

I go after her bum with my tongue

Like I was an avenger and that hole killed my husband

Dirtbox thoroughly drubbed

Wore the glove so there’s no new mums at new moon

Or dalmatian spots a cock clinic booth prescribes salves to soothe

I better make the move

To the spot before the spot moves like a fairy forest tends to do

Drive like damnation awaited or came in my wake

Depending which of my primary drives then needed to be sated

Bejaysus, I’m being side-seated by Satan, he’s telling me exceed eighty

On a tight lane; the suggestion is crazy but I still obey.