SONNET 154

detailed description of WS's coke-filled orgy.

The thistle false-god jumping thrice blue-green

Stood with his dick, her hand-pumping jam,

Whilst lowly nymphs sucked off too much to sleep

Blow snorting up; snow from her dealer’s hand

The brick red devotee snatched up that fire

And canary regions in the mind were arm’d;

With all the dripping, cumming, hot desire

That f*****g with a virgin’s rose alarmed.

This thirst she quenched with a fat c**k by,

Whilst in Hate’s slit took moist pink sempiternal,

Sporting a hard and throbbing therapy

Four pricks increased; but still, your mistress’ sniff,

Ran here for pure, this their nostrils can prove,   

D***o’s heat virgins, best used in bathtubs.