Samson IV
- Samson denounces Delilah:
- “Her eyes rest on her knees,
while her ankles rest on my back;
her scalding tears are grease
that prettify—polish—her rack.*
- “Her limbs writhe against mine
til I’m petrified—in crisis:
No dead-ass fuck! Bottom-line:
Her love demands highest prices!
- “Her Love means Torture:
The grievous, blues sylph has a scythe
for a tongue; her mouth’s sure
Truth’s abyss, Peril’s vent; lies—lithe. - “A nocturnal face, her
eyes abrupt, she’s no debutante—
with egg-shell heart, tender
tits. No. Her hips—so malignant— - “did swagger under mine
under pewter moon, copper sun,
to morals undermine:
No useless aches! Pains? There were none! - “Mature and always ripe,
her cunt’s Hunger—agreeable
as is a rare blood-type
in saliva—took no morsel - “of cock. Her puckered sex—
as nubile as flute notes—needed
fucking—no disconnects,
but sassy, squirming, stampeded - “penis, until her back
broke bed-straw and her ass broke wind,
and I groaned in the sack,
unhappy to obtain my end. - “Her eyes rest on her knees,
while her ankles rest on my back;
her scalding tears are grease
that prettify—polish—her rack….”
[Roissy-en-France (France) 7/9/16]
David (Excerpt from II Samuel 11)
- True: I savoured that head-turning slut,
the bent-back bitch—
Uriah’s wife—
her neck like pouring milk. - I called out to her from my rooftop,
for I eyed her, bathing,
and didn’t she leap to sleep with her king?!! - Her clean-robe parted slyly: No panties.
- Her dark-lace bustier opened wide:
I eyed her Niagara-foam-white breasts. - Easily, her pursed snacker
snapped open to my kiss.
Her sex came suddenly sopping to my jaws. - Quick, I got down to eating:
That Chinese International Student tasted
tangy as spicy donair meat. - My body came at her as rubber made iron—
tough or soft scraps—
dainties she could engorge—
until my manhood outsretched milk,
plastering her nether hairs,
and the sound of her ass
was like a sax burp. - I’d thought I’d fucked her ass off—
in all that jostling.
No, not at all.
Sweat renovated the bed. - Roses, stains, fountains, poppies, stones,
her collapsed husband, her fallen husband,
vineyards, olive trees, a cemetery plot,
vegetable plots, a battlefield, a quarry, cacti,
the conviviality of an assassination
masquerading as a battlefield accident,
hairpin turns, the fetus—ours—twisting
within Bathsheba’s belly… - Natch—our illicit kisses
imped God to cripple us with curses:
Her womb was better a grave—
cos I stuck hubby Uriah in his bitter grave. - Yeah, by fucking Bathsheba,
I fucked me up badly. - My one saving grace?
Childe Solomon to this Dark Tower’s come.
[Pisa & Vallelonga & San Nicola da Crissa (Italia)
10 & 13 mai mmxvi]
* Tits.
