Shakespearean Spear (or Iambic five inches)

This sad, neglected lump of meat
Who’s head points down toward my feet
Can yet be raised up from its rest
To swell with pride and give its best

A multi purpose instrument
Most often used to urine vent
As every teenage buck will know
One’s name can be inscribed in snow

The Righteous have a worthy task
And will not wear the Perverts mask
For them it must be used to breed
And to deliver nature’s seed

Yet just to piss and fertilise
Gives Pleasures Tool a poor disguise
For any lass that gives it home
Can squirm with joy upon this bone

At rest it hangs, devoid of size
But then will grow and upward rise
Its girth increased, and veins engorged
A hot steel piston, freshly forged.

A sword or instrument so blunt
Best sheathed wirhin a willing cunt
A jack to hammer any Jill
And fuck until she has her fill

But trust it not, this fickke toy
For if he strokes too much, a boy
May find he only cums with with grip
He’ll limply from a pussy slip

Performance has no guarantee
Nor is there one for loyalty
Sometimes it takes just one caress
To launch a sweet and salty mess

A greedy girl insists on size
The lesser hung are often wise
They may not stretch her with their dicks
But wizards sleeves are full of tricks

The careless fool with whores will sleep
And soon with tears and puss will weap
The sage who treats his pencil better
Wears a rubber or French Letter

One Response to “Shakespearean Spear (or Iambic five inches)”

  1. Nicely done! I like the rhythm you managed to keep. Thanks for the insight into the male mind 🙂

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