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