A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece, <br />Diminutive, but room enough . . like clay <br />To finger eager on some torrid day . . <br />Who'd throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease. <br />Never, not once in all one's horny lease <br />To'have had a demi-lay, a pretty, gay, <br />Snug, slim and supple-breasted girl for play . . <br />She bats her big, warm eyes, and slides like grease. <br /> <br />And cuff her silly-hot again, mouth hot <br />And wet her small round writhing—but this screams <br />Suddenly awake, unreal as alkahest, <br />My god, this isn't what I want!—You tot <br />The harrow-days you hold me to, black dreams, <br />The dirty water to get off my chest. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Holt<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-104-a-spot-of-poontang-on-a-five-foot-pie/
