WB Yeats so desperate for a taste
Happy grafting on testicles from apes
Wasn’t sleeping due to profound rage
Counting ceiling bumps, repeating the Passion sequence
Circuits of the rafters, surplus in my nasal passage
Done the dirt, doggy style, did a whole menagerie
In her cave like Aladdin with the lamp, put my lad in and she was glad
Always comparing after me
Orgasm climbs the spine’s ladder
Afterwards spent, she’d been had, thought she’d had a bad guy before
But they were softer than the clothes of Daz triers
Tired but wants to keep trying, Irish quiet.
Alchemisland 
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