Ode № 145531
An Ode To My Dead Husband Bert
Oh to have you in me now that wan Autumn's fart
Is just around the corner, but you have gone from me.
Dust to dust and ashes to fucking ashes,
You have snuffed it, verily, alas, woe is me.
No more shall I enjoy your toothless, rancid gums
Slurping their loathsome, circuitous, lazy route
Over my bloated and degenerate body
In a parody of love's old sweet tuneless song.
No more shall I feel your louse-infested body
Thrusting butchly 'twixt my trembling wide-open thighs
Or sucking and slobbering, grunting sweet nothings
Through my excitingly matted unwashed pubics;
However I do have joyous consolation:
I now have undisputed rights to the vibrator,
And do not need to be constantly cleansing it
After your prostatic stimulation sessions.
7 comments
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.
Gratuitously gross
well done
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