An open letter to the open minded

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Dear carnal buffet of wonder and taste,
I’ve got it bad from both sides. My jack is jilling and my Jill is jacked. I’ve got a motor in the moonhole and an engine in the stars. And they both run on gas, Baby, gas. And by gas I mean the sex. I take it pure and fluid and nasty as a Norwegian Swede at a Mississippi Swamp Jam. You heard me. So. Question one. You wanna meet me in the bog, baby? Cause I’ve got thick wrinkled mudflaps that hang all the way from hello to goodbye! And I need a hot splashbone to part my curtains and wash my windows. My skin is covered in sexual grease and I need a heavy dripper to scrape me off and dry me out like a Bedouin Jacuzzi. I wanna feel the harsh wind of a throbbing blunder nugget splitting my mottled thighs open like a mountain does the sky. Make my sex place a Montana licence plate and ride the beef fleet on in and in and on and on. Juice my lewd tube and make it send sticky clouds into the fleshy sky. I’m a deuce caboose front and back and side to side stopping at all stations from Ladyville to Mantown. My body is nude thunder and naked lightning all buff and smooth and wrinkled and creased like a midnight prune. I give it and take it and mix it and make it because I’m double-edged piece of Parmesan that you wanna sprinkle on your erotic lasagna. I’m spaghetti and meatballs, baby. I’m sweatpants and tightjeans. I’m a loose goose. I’m a slop dog. Lather me up and rub me down and use my multi-body to clean the grime off of the city with them officials down at City Hall sitting up in their crystal offices writing sex cheques their nut butts can’t cash and sticking the dirty costs hard up into the crowded holes of the commoners sitting all complacent in front of their teevees vaping bubblegum and eating pudding and smiling their toothless smiles and wallowing in ignorant glee.
From,
Snakeskin Renegade

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Blob. Lust. Cube.

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I am a blob. I am hot for a cube. Lines excite me. Corners move my fluids to the untamed ever shifting boundaries of my existence. Angles take me and make me. My form is one of no form, but the cube, it is strict, real, and exact. That floods my spume fires with sexual fuel. Inside my glubulous being it is like a free wheeling flow of hot erotic moisture that pushes against my intumescent innards and outtards as I stare longingly at that perfect three-dimensional shape. All sides exactly the same. Whoa nelly, if that cube don’t stop being so straight and angular I’m gonna pop. I’m a swollen blister full of sex puss. Yeah, baby, yeah, cube, that’s what I am. That’s what you do to me. I’m a super protuberant sac because of you, cube. Excessive nodulation has my shapeless soul bursting at the membranes. Not a curve on you and I’m spuming. Rigid. Straight. Hard. That’s you. Not me. I’m a blob. I ain’t go not form. Not in a regulatr way, no. I’m a sexual salient being, yo. Let me check you out. Blob all over you, baby, cube. Oh yeah yeah yeah. Ooooo. Mmmm. Uhhhhh. Damn. Busted that lump. I love you, cube.

Sex Poem 1435 BCE

He had a cock with the head of Anubis.

She had a honey pot called the “Well of the Souls”.

When they screwed it was like 

the Pharoahs had returned.

(Had they even ever left?)

(Nope.)

Building hot and fleshy monuments

To the erotic-Kings and sensual-Queens

That had come before. Oh so triumphant.

While out in the desert it was

All grunts and groans.

Like a million ass slaves

Was moving huge stones,

And not getting paid.

But instead of making pyramids

They was making love.

And instead of the Nile,

It was a cum-drenching flood.

Oh Egypt!

Oh Chaldea!

Oh Beefcake!

Oh Sweet Mama-mia!

Since the dawn of civilization 

People have been banging

Hard and sweaty and soft and fierce

And just like the Pharoahs

When they step out on the gallery

To address the throng—

Her meaty vagina.

His throbbing dong.

Witnessing their sex is liking seeing God(s)!

BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN!