The Ovation

He strains; his eyes are shut; hands unclench; clench;
Then, slyly, curiosity prevails:
I want to watch him come; observe the strength;
And view cock's majesty, with which he sails
Into cunt's harbour, that I've wetly prepared -
Receptively, adoringly, with sweet
Allure, his puissance decorates the bared
Quay, where he can loll and linger to repeat
The journey, in his mind, for ages post trip,
That he completed with a groan; and I smiled
To find embrace, and the strong, thrusting tip
Of his still fine vessel at anchor, styled
To catch quietly, the faint pulsation
and
The arrival: a shared, strained ovation.