O’, the good God, he has been having those
dreams again: all Technicolor and gold.
“Her hardest hue to hold,” he did suppose,
which was true, as it turns out, and he knows
now for certain: hurting like the sick dog.
All those dreams again: gold and Technicolor.
The dreams: fraught with girl ass, which is hard like
Zeus’s one true living ass: marble rock.
It is this only, never anything else.
So you see why the dreams weigh down his cock?
O’, but someday he will make a great splash.
Someday they will make movies to explain.
Yes, we all know that piss can’t warm a bed,
but on those cold nights thoughts get to his head.