​Lord, Save This Unholy Baptist!?

An Irreverent Rhyme in Dedication to John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

Lord, save this unholy Baptist!?
Her lactation, like mother’s juice,
slakes thirsty tongues with creamy gist.
To flush her slick love-chamber’s sluice,
with corkscrew thumbs, and practiced wrists,
like a gander she mauls her goose!

If hairy chest stirs those supple breasts
in whorish barns (near lover’s inns),
then with my cock’s erectest crest,
the buttocks (of her cleft nether-chin),
like meat pies, I durst hurry test,
lest I, limp, err in deadly sins!

But I pray Thee, O holy Godhead!
I durst not be so thus content’d,
when, like dogwood, is my sainthead,
when goes my penis unlament’d;
and, like Pan, to cunt the nunhead,
I’ve foregone your grace, unrepent’d.

© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 April 2024