A Wellhead And All Things To All Men
Thighs hard-bitten from stem to stern
I stumbled below the hem and kept taciturn
Now harder than the back of God's head
Her vestibule as hot as a firebreak
Ichor sharp-tasting and venetian red
She caught me in her canebrake
Tongue up north while down the banks
I came forth and crept amid spindleshanks
Only just washed in the blood again
Her bosom made like a milk car
A wellhead and all things to all men
She let me kiss her cesarian scar
Toes drip-dry rather than shrink at sea
I suspired on high and went on bended knee
Still able to apotheosize the feet of crows
Her verve as specious as the Triune
Cervix quite courteous and so it arose
She drew me from atop her moon















