A cunning linguist is my Romeo,
whose tongue has tasted ev’ry inch of me
ravenously from head to toe and—Oh!
in between—that I’m wet with ecstasy!
With lips on breasts, he kisses my firm nipples
first, then bites and nibbles on them like candy;
now wet with excitement, my genitals
beg for the strokes of his tongue to eat me.
Supine, I spread wide for him as his hands
prime my vagina—first the labials—
then my fluttering vulva—which expands
like a bloom for all of my man’s essentials.
Then, his lusty tongue slays my ********!—
so I then beg for the **** of my Horace.

I miss the penis.
I feel like a word with no vowels;
no one wants to pronounce me.

Woke up this morning,
looked around for my penis.

J'ai été dévasté;
le zizi, Je ne pouvais pas le trouver.

I would like to order a penis, please,
with dressing on the side.
Also, this soup could use a dash of penis.

Señor Plátano: ¿dónde estás?
Mr. Defile Me, where you at?

There's something lacking in the décor:
an artfully placed penis.

There used to be one, right over there.
Reading the paper, using a drill gun,
leaving socks on the floor.

Now there's a hole in my heart,
penis-sized. Ohhhhh prostate

baby you up and gone.
Those ol' seminal vesicles done rambled on.

Corpus cavernosum,
mmmmm-ahhh—hmmm
ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

A penis has taken flight.
Probably gon' fly all night.

There's a flock of penises headed south.
Their cries recede over the distant car dealerships.

Over the darkened pleather interiors
and the stoned janitor, slopping his mop
in a bucket of dirty water.

long time no speaky