Wake Up Call
In the Spring a subtle crimson comes upon young Iris’s breasts;
And in the Spring the wanton neighbours sneak a peek at Iris’s chest;
For in the Spring a livelier Iris sunbathes on the roof above;
In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Now her phone is set to dark mode as’t should be for one so young,
And her eyes on social media with a mute observance hung
As she typed, “My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me,
You okay, hun? All the current of my being sets to thee.”
Then on her sun-kissed cheeks and forehead came a colour and a frown,
As she had seen the darkling pink flashing past as she scrolled down.
And she turn’d, her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs,
As lusty Twitter DMs fell under the glare of hazel eyes
Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong”;
Saying, “Dost thou like it roughly?” saying, “Look, my dick is long.”
Iris took the pics she saw, and turn’d them in her glowing hands;
At one bad angle all were taken, emphasising purple glans.
She took up the thumb of Blocking, smote upon these dicks with might;
Smote the sort of dicks, that, careless, always hid their balls from sight.
Many a morning she’s imagined plump and heavy balls,
And her mind’s eye throngs her pulse with the fullness of them all.
Many fancied scrotums tightened as they felt her fingertips,
Many daydreamed testes push’d together by her lips.
O my cousin, drama’s started! O my Amy, called a whore!
“O you weary, dreary whorebag!’ so the saddened Darren swore!
“Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung,
Puppet to a chad when wet, and servile to the brutish-hung!
Is it well to wish thee cancelled? — having known me — to decline
And, with a host of others, seeking out a bigger dick than mine!”
Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day,
What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay.
As the dick pic is, the sex is: thou art mated with a clown,
And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
He will hold thee, when his passion shall be spent and kindness stalls,
Somewhat lower than his cock, a little closer to his balls.
What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not that they are glazed with sand.
Go to him, he wants thy booty, kiss him, follow his command.
It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought:
Soothe him with thy finest blowjob, suck him without deeper thought.
He can’t answer to the purpose, easy thing to understand —
Better thou sent nudes before him, so he could do it with his hand!
Better thou and he were sexting, hidden from his cock’s disgrace,
Or slid in one another’s DMs, never meeting face-to-face.