Oh fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you work in your garden in gloves?
Stems sway as I swoon, my flowers in bloom.
Roots are a – quiver, goddess, come hither!
Deep red I blush as I yearn for your touch.
Your breath is so pure, like liquid manure.
Your hair is like straw; your hand is a claw.
Come near my love and take off that glove.
Let our flesh entwine, your hand stroke benign
On my peachy skin, oh where to begin..?
I long to be plucked and swell at your suck.
My passion exudes at teeth that protrude.
My juices run down those carmine- slashed lips.
Love at first bite as my seed splats your bits.
The birds and the bees can do as they please.
To feed your desire I gladly expire.
By Helen Griffiths