Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

Up heart for one more snooker’s pool ; It dives amid the mingled mucks Of clap juice, come, and raspberry fool ! When Celia fucks. VI When Celia comes, ’tis earthquake’s hour ! The bed vibrates like kettle-drums. It is a grand display of power When Celia comes. Right up her arse my shitty thumbs Increase her rapture. Gentle flower ! Flap go apace our bulging turns. The sea hath swallowed up the tower. Spunk trickles over both our bums In one ecstatic summer shower When Celia comes. VII When Celia’s sick I shit my drawers, Then wipe it up with them, then stick My head therein. The poet scores When Celia’s sick ! The chunks I chew ; the slime so slick I mix with monthly blood — some whore’s, And oil with that my chancred prick. We then start fucking on all fours. Nine times, like Tite, I do the trick. You bet the semen simply pours When Celia’s sick VIII When Celia shits I bite my lips ; My cock gets fits ; I hold her hips When Celia shits. [130]