That gross beastly thing of mine in the grotto.

I love that ghastly demon dream.

But her bog sludge is too sexy

And scares my wrought heart like death.

Sludge makes me greedy,

Achy,

Stupid.

I want to suck my bog baby,

And she wants to suck me

Until I am a bruise.

Remember I love the color of wine

And the texture of oozing peaches.

The notion writhes between my legs

Like maggots,

Screams its grief

That I whimper and bear my hackles

And don’t open wide.

But I am gaping to the point of torment.

Already bent over the banister,

Aggressive,

Disoriented.

It’s as embarrassing as it gets.