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deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Dead Trunk
On a dead trunk, brought down by falling years,
Lay a stretched slut, who men have slowly filled
And fucked and used, until the woman's tears
Flowed from her eyelids. As drops slowly build,
A quiet lament accompanied each thrust,
Upon the mat of moss, where she was lying;
Life's filled with natural justice; and she must
Accept the penetration, since she's trying
To please men, as they use her for some hours;
And fill her belly with a good supply
Of sperm, that will not spray the crocus flowers
That flourish in the clearing, as she seeks
To think on that dead trunk for weeks and weeks.
Lay a stretched slut, who men have slowly filled
And fucked and used, until the woman's tears
Flowed from her eyelids. As drops slowly build,
A quiet lament accompanied each thrust,
Upon the mat of moss, where she was lying;
Life's filled with natural justice; and she must
Accept the penetration, since she's trying
To please men, as they use her for some hours;
And fill her belly with a good supply
Of sperm, that will not spray the crocus flowers
That flourish in the clearing, as she seeks
To think on that dead trunk for weeks and weeks.
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