Mud lust

Mud Lust

Have you ever looked at a mud puddle
with a hard-on?
 
Bear track at the edge
like the tramp stamp
on a hot mess?
 
There’s something so easy,
so accessible,
so approachable,
so delightfully inviting
about that mud, that paw print.
 
Jump on in, boy, get your feet wet,
lose your boots, boy,
wiggle your toes a bit.
 
I’ve been knee-deep in pussy 
since the day I was born.
 
Try telling that to the bear.
 
Where?
 
Over there, my friend.
 
Where?
 
Watching from the shadows.
 
Where?
 
There, there!
In the shallows.
 
Where?
 
There, in the middle
of the very mud puddle
in which you’re rooting about
buck naked like a piggy pig.
 
That bear is going to eat your nose,
my friend. He’s going to devour your mouth,
my boy. He’s going to gnaw your cheekbones,
your bone.
 
Heaven knows, you shouldn’t roll and rut
in wallows when bears are so very close.
Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookEmail this to someone