Dare I compare thee to a summer’s storm?
Thou art more sultry and concupiscent:
Tempestuous winds blow with fickle form,
And lightning’s fire all too quick before spent;
Sometime too brief the rumbles of thunder,
And often hath his electricity wane;
Storm’s stamina is sometime a blunder,
By chance or nature’s changing course in vain;
But thy thund’ring rapture shall not be swift,
Nor lose sexual vibrations thou ow’st;
Nor shall parting clouds leave thou cunt adrift,
When in eternal rumbling lust thou grow’st:
So long as men bury their cocks in thee,
Long lives thou fervor, and wetness to see.
