My thick-veined slab of beef will call my name,
And choke out pearly gobs to voice its wish:
To spasm randomly, while plunging through
Your squirting swamphole, ripe with musk of fish.

Your axe-wound calls to me, as if with teeth,
And heavy twist my eggs with sweaty need:
To slam together skins with slimy force!
To lose the bitter sludge that is my seed!
My purple-helmet warrior cannot wait
To taste your coozebag flesh and taco lips
While bone finds warm embrace in steaming gash,

And violent screams keep time with grinding hips.
But if these things should not yet come to pass,
Then I shall be content to take your ass.