This is Not a Poem About Cocks

Missing pissing Cocks, glistening hissing forked-tongue Cocks,
Cocks like gun barrels, hot after pistol shots into thrice cum-crusted socks;
and flocks of Cocks come to perch on my limbs and lips,
and storehouses rowed and stacked with bottomless stock of premium Cock...
Yes... premium stock, all rock hard Cock -you are encouraged to browse and do a
Walk-n-Gawk.
These silos are Cocks bursting with Cock,
Sprawling over 3 no 6 no 12 city blocks.
Perectly sited only a short walk from the docks,
these docks, and the heavy industrial zone of industrial strength Cocks,
are known well and good by certain muscled jocks.

These certain well-muscled marble-dicked jocks know too this:
On my door, there is no need to knock
And my door, it is always unlocked.
But my bed's not made,
my ass is two long days un-fucked.
And these granite jocks with their granite Cocks
know my mouth is default set for suck.
I've always been the maker of my own luck.
But Hey You!  I need a driving like a hard driving truck.
If you feel a twinge of guilt, stuff my hole with a buck.
I am your fast-food fuck,
special sauce fed fresh from your sqpirt bottle of thick throbbing Cock.

Load up my belly with those pistol shots.  Gag me with cum-crusted socks.