Since I would rather take
   A chainsaw to the gut
Than have my heart to break,
   Instead, Love, bust my nut.



A Romance

Let me to kiss your chewy lips,
Draw drops of blood with little nips,
And suck them up in little sips.

Your teeth, as white as yellow snow,
Crooked and spare, do seem to show
Like rocks of rosin in a row.

Your forkèd tongue did lately taste
A cockroach fat; now, should you haste
To suck my breath like solid waste.

To me there is no greater bliss
That heav’n could hostage than your kiss.
Come, kiss me while I take a piss.



Awakens not my wolf-man to the moon
For that it shines a silver discus full,
For he may rise when clouds the thickest dull
The round moon’s lustre, or when the clock strikes noon.
One sorceress alone doth have the pow’r
T’arouse the beast, and he doth her obey;
And from her side the beast doth never stray,
So loveth him the witch and the witching hour.
Yet, by my troth, the wolf-man hath no love
For her and hers which greater is than mine:
By daylight, blackest night, or moony shine,
My love doth neither wax nor wane nor rove.
However, unlike the love the beast doth keep,
My love can’t wake, for it doth never sleep.