Saturday, 24 October 2009


I’ve always loved a belly met
And have brass rubbings of them all:
The ones I rather would forget,
The ones I can’t recall;
The sainted virginal expanse,
The whore’s from the rocky road;
The tightest tucked into its pants,
The one that overflows.

A lattice work of hills and vales;
The vein work of a woman’s coat,
Upon my paper all are traced
Awaiting future notes:
This one deserves a perfect mark;
This other an even seven;
This next was taken in the dark,
A zero out of ten.

And what I left for ladies loved
I barely have to ponder on,
A chart of times spent up above
Or when they rapt were on;
For in control I rarely made
It dry into a Chapter House,
But underneath my name was saved;
A saddle to espouse.

So all the women I have known,
Whichever base we made it to,
I wish you love if you’re alone,
And happiness if wooed,
And when I find the time to look
At my collection of etchings,
I often wish I’d not mistook
Wonderful for wretched.

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